I,Torrent.

I am that raging,snake-like flood that does from under
hill-tops burst and flies,tumbling into valley distant.

The blows upon my face are pearly,peak-top snows that
glisten in the sunshine,melt and fuel my narrow-channeled rage.

Those bitter words of spite that sliced into my yielding skull
are now torrential rains that fall,stage-curtain-like,from
darkened skies and serve only to further force my speed upwards
as I downward plunge into gully deep.

Beneath my swell of fury and swiftly-lifting waves,
cower creatures,few in number,since quick to lacerate
am I,the hearts of those who choose to flow with me.

In agony,I scream as I leap from tempest-battered crags on high
and scythe through freezing air,to fall and crash 'gainst blade-like
rocks below.

Those,both near and far,can hear my guttural roar as,
in my primal anger,I wrench away a rough-hewn bridge,a feeble
edifice that dares to try to temper and deny my rage.

Downwards,ever downwards,I plunge and always,always,always
do I perish in misery before I,torrent,
can become tranquil,winding river
that nourishes the plains.