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