Current

Everything you hold must fall eventually.
Why not send it on its way, with whispers
And an open palm so you can blow it blissfully away,
Letting the wind take it upon its whim?
Does it matter the destination?
Or do you deem yourself decider of its fate?
I beg to differ.
You never make a thing's fate less uncertain
Than when you grip it with all your strength.
Pure will and arbitrary decisions, you say;
They mean nothing when we pass away.
Fate is upon the way the sand falls,
The way the pebbles slide,
The way you react to the never-ending flow.

William A. Otis