River.

You may call me
a blasphemer,
a ridiculous optimist,
one groping for blindness
or sight,
but I can't help feeling that it is all
temporary.
I can't help feeling that I am
forever.
All of their words,
painted on my face,
fade like the tags of a former
lover of the streets,
coward of the night.
This clay world with out me is
formless.
I am the river.