"End of the River"

I can’t see,
Please!
What’s to be?
It’s known, what could,
Living in the woods.

Surviving off the rounds,
Breathing from the sounds,
Where’s the source?
Is it asylum of sorts?

The ability to leave is mine,
But, what better place will I find?

With a wild-fire,
The fuel for desire,
In the center
Of uncertainty
The trees judge, but never budge,
The river flows therein, and throughout.

I can’t see,
Please!
What’s to be?
Where the river flows,
Living where it shows.

by Patrick N. Rushing