To Be Like Water
Comfort is water.
I want to be like water, formless and flowing.
To cascade down a mountain of rocks, crisp and clean among wild, tall trees.
To make love with the moon, birthing high and low tides.
To freeze with Winter. To melt with Spring.
To fall from a thundering sky and play drums on the roof, breaking the highest heat of Summer.
To spring from a faucet into hands that wash the dishes.
To swell in someone's eyes and drop forth gently.
To be shapeless, yet definite.
I want to be like water.
To cling to nothing, and be part of everything.
About the Creator
Samantha Hearn
Hi! I'm Sammy Hearn, a photographer and artist based in Nashville, Tennessee. I like to write all sorts of things - DIY how-to costume stuff, photo series, short poems, fiction, you name it. My work can be found at www.samanthahearn.com.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Samantha Hearn and writers in Poets and other communities.
Plastic Cheese
Plastic cheese and Dollar General sheets. The smells of cigarette smoke, a karate dojo and summer melted together. Fights with my brother and lying to my mother, hiding the tattoo I got at 16. Fox News in the background, throwing up my dinner. I got my belly button pierced and was told I could be skinnier. Southern charm to everyone but us, someone's on the phone, can you kids just hush? A carton of Camels and a couple packs of Virginia Slims on the top of the fridge. "Close the front door, we can't afford to cool the whole ridge." 100-year-old photos with ghost eyes in the bathroom, tea stained doilies on top of the toilet. Plastic cheese on cheap white bread, peanut butter and jelly if you want that instead. Two hours to get to the bluest lake, but the boat almost flipped in the storm of '98. Popeye the Sailor Man being sung by Dad - I think it was the most fun we ever had. Plastic cheese and Home Alone, Christmas in the basement - photos we didn't feel like taking. Home isn't really a poem, and I'm not really a poet. Home is how you feel - not perfect, but whole.
By Samantha Hearn3 years ago in Poets
Comments (1)
Lovely poem.