The River That Divides Us

I am going to paint a picture,
of what all of you would see,
if you spent a day adventuring,
with all my friends and me.

Preparation is half the battle,
for our adventures are not tame.
You better come prepared,
for you'll find we're less than sane.

In the deadest heat of summer,
our bikes will breach the street,
for temperature is just a factor,
in all the obstacles we'll beat.

When the heat is hard to bare,
and sweat wells up on our wrists,
all we do is take a detour,
and drown in a sprinkler's mists.

As soon as we're refreshed,
we leave for where we're destined.
Water drips from all our clothes,
looking back at what we danced in.

Our laughs are heard for miles,
while we ride into the sunset,
but our adventure doesn't end here,
there are stories left to tell yet.

As we near our destination,
the wind blows through the trees.
We can hear the water echoing,
through the dense forest leaves.

We enter the woods silently,
for we are not there to disturb.
We come to find our family,
within the forest herbs.

Once we've found our spot,
we make ourselves at home.
The river flows beside us,
we're all glad to be alone.

A tree drapes across the river,
it had fallen from a storm.
It is our only way to cross it,
we must escape from the norm.

For this river is what divides us,
from the gangsters and the preps.
We are the pot smokin' hippies,
and this river divides us best.

~The usage of pot in this poem is strictly for imagery, nothing more.~