They told me Truth was in the river found,
So I went down to hear its holy sound.
But all I heard was chaos, loud and fast,
The angry shouts of futures and of past.
The surface churned with gossip, lies, and hate,
The foam of breaking news, arriving late.
The debris of a million small opinions,
The arguments of fools and their dominions.
"This is not truth," I said, "this is a war,
This is not what I came here looking for.
The river did not answer, but a breeze
Whispered a secret through the patient trees:
"You're listening to the surface, to the spray,
The shallow parts that fight and waste the day.
The Truth is not a shout, it is a pull.
It's in the current, deep and powerful.
It doesn't argue, and it doesn't boast,
It is the thing the silent feel the most.
Just stand and let the noise wash over you,
The steady, silent weight will see you through."
Poet's Note
In our world of constant information, it's easy to feel like we're drowning in noise. This poem uses the image of a river to separate the shallow, chaotic "surface" (gossip, news, arguments) from the deep, steady "current" (truth, wisdom, intuition). It’s a reminder for myself and others to seek depth over distraction, and to find strength not in shouting back at the noise, but in trusting the silent pull of what truly matters beneath it all.