…and the river runs

And the river runs.

Low against the verge
It drags itself on.
Sifting through the crags;
A tormented soul
A creature dying
The last of its kind,
Wounds atop the Earth
Scratching underneath

Somewhere many rains
May rush beyond all
Jaded horizons,
If Providence smiles.
Onward, then it yearns!
Eager to drink deep
Mid those crimson suns
Throned upon the seas.

And the river runs.