This week let’s write a drain poem. Think about the act of liquids draining and come up with a new metaphor since the common colloquial of feeling “drained” has been done. Surprise me with something new.

Where Rivers Go

Where Rivers Go

A river

does not mourn

when it drains

into the sea.

It understands

that endings

are only

another shape

of beginning.

The mountains

release it.

The valleys

guide it.

The stones

teach it patience.

Until one quiet day,

it lets go

of its name

and becomes

something larger

than itself.

Perhaps

that is what

we are meant

to learn—

not to fear

the places

where life

empties us,

but to trust

that every surrender

is feeding

an ocean

we cannot yet see.
 

With love, coffee, poetry, and stardust,

— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫

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