Against All Odds - Anarchist River

A stream starting in the hills
Becomes slowly a tide of power
Like a mystic anarchist
In search of the sea
Because nothing less will embrace
Its waters into self-losing fullness
At times it seems to lose direction
In curves, hills, dark valleys without sun
Going backwards or sinking into sand
Only to emerge into light
And healing hope for the fields around
Sensing again the infallibility of its compass
Like music energetically flowing
Like music energetically flowing
Towards the one magnetic ocean.
Anarchist!
Towards the ocean!