The crowds flow as though in roted tides.
Each moving their own ways,
to their own destinations.
Groups clot and eddy the paths,
creating friction and uncertainty.
One lone creature dares to go against the
flow,
maybe not geting anywhere,
but ifluencing those he passes.
He is joined by twelve, then seventy-two.
Although the flow is thick,
the group starts moving, more join.
The leader is gone now, but he left orders.
Onward and upward,
to the source of the flow they travel,
knowing it will only get harder.
The line is now thousands of years long
and millions of people wide.
But they still must travel up stream.
