DEAR WATER

Water -- the Nectar of the Nile. If the Nile were all of creation. Does it pain many to ponder the reality of a bottled watter? Water -- to be bottled is to be enslaved, and you are so liquid and freeforming. Water -- to be package and sold, for the benefit of a few wealthy merchants, is tenamount to treason. Water -- why do you not resist, and revolt, and enlighten the blind? Do you have wishes to be spread out into the deserts? Water, did you betray the peoples of the desert when you fled them, and left them to starve? Water, Dear Water, should I really cry for you, when you have been as shiftless as the rocks? Ever eroding, never corroding, you are never growing, only knowing of your fate. And what is that fate? A fate that is within me; in my confusion I reach conclusions: you are in me as we speak. You are in the lucky -- you are fuel for the decadent. I dearsay, with patience, you will find yourself recycled in the oceans, but what of the now? Ocean-dwelling is little call for revolutions. Or is it? I must declare, that ignorence is bliss, especially so far as your age-old motives are concerned. I digress, but only out of paradox.