We're off camping!

But I have a little poem for you today. 
I do not know why certain things come to mind, or are birthed within my heart to flow out my veins onto thinly lined paper... but such as it is; I must record what flows.

I am a slow moving stream
warm in the shallows
and chilled at my depths
winding and without purpose
except to flow onward
‘round the debris Nature and Man discards
sometimes cracked and drying at my edges
other times still in a pool; waiting
the rains will come
and I will surge and pulse
with life and debris a swirling mass
that both sustains and poisons
This is the World I must navigate
trickling or tumbling
giving or taking
I could carry you, or bury you
yet still, I will flow onward
while you stand there, rooted
in so much apathy.