The river flows beyond you or I.
In it ride many things:
Bullets, pebbles, wedding rings
Coalesced tears of those who cry
Washed away letters of those too shy.
The river runs from mountains high:
From underground springs
Falling forever, from the sky
An endless waterfall, a sung sigh.
It curved out a course already laid:
It burned and it writhed, it floated it flayed
It drowned and it dived, the land it enslaved
Able as Caine, a brother deprived and depraved.
From a trickle to torrent it tore through:
Till the war at last won, allowing peace to pervade
The race run to the end, the water urged to renew
The mouth opening to oceans, an alliance made.
It breathed out all its woes into the sea:
The mingling of the waters, a pact of mixed hues.
All the vestiges from ages past, a broken history
Amalgamated unburdened from you, from me.
No man ever steps in the same river twice:
It seems no man should feel the cold or the pain of getting old
But this is a certain as fire, as ice, and for every man will suffice
To life we are beckoned and to the river we are called.