The blood river flows

to the opal sea,

flows to the sea of death,

taking away the stain and

stink that used to be life.

 

Along its banks

the people stand and

look, gaze at the blood

and think about what’s left,

think about the river of blue,

think about what

used to be true,

when truth was like

the river clear,

the river filled with

life and cheer.

 

The blood river flows

on and on and brings its load

to the opal sea that waits

as a stagnant pool for death’s fill,

existing without life or growth

or warmth beneath.

 

9/12/2016