The Race

Water races in torrents

challenging each other in odd-metered syncopation.

Thunder cheers them, charging them forward,

Beating his mighty drum, echoing his voice

Through houses and trees and spiderwebs alike.

Each droplet must find its own path to the earth,

Twisting and swirling,

Diving head-long into an unknown ending

Blissfully unaware of where it will land.

It is in the journey that she finds her freedom.

And birds that peer from behind bamboo leaves sing of her praises,

Watching the glorious descent from chaos

To the open arms of resigned peace.

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