Once upon a time, we were.
A force.
We could look ahead and have a glance into the future, one that was so promising we aimed for it. Like porters, we shaped ourselves into something resembling a masterpiece. We took our time because we had enough.
We were the river flowing unhindered.
Our source was clean, our destination wide. We knew no limits and gladly went along, not caring that the path led downwards. Young and free, we were called, and we didn’t care what undertones their words carried.
We were agile.
On the run all night yet a tireless force at dawn. The silver moon graced our surface with splendour. When the stars came out, we twinkled back at them, a synchronous dance of heaven and earth.
How determined we moved, headed for the wide life of the ocean ahead!
We’ve heard news and tales of infinity. How we could leave our vain pursuits behind and just be—one with nature, helping man inhabit, despite his shortcomings.
But we needed more.
So we morphed into beautiful birds.
Why crawl when you can fly? And we flew, singing songs never heard before. With wings strong enough to mount the winds, we climbed higher.
The stretch of the sky even more daunting and exciting than the oceans below, which was waiting to catch us if we fell. But we didn’t. We couldn’t.
Because we were gods.
And for a while, it was everything.
We no longer aimed for infinity; we became infinite. But little did we know how bored the gods before us were. So we ended in a rut. Roaming the heavens, seeking havoc, war, love, anything to make us feel what we once felt when we were.
And havoc we wreaked till we could no longer bear to see the fire burning below.So we turned to rain, hoping to quench the inferno.
Alas, when we did, we were no more. Just memories and songs of the past to be told to generations to come, as we merged with our source once again.
Prompt: Water under the bridge.
