The River’s Cry

The river is an echo of lost voices,

Its whispers borrowed from the boughs of pain, 

Its stories snatched from the tales of sorrow, 

Its turbulent waves wreaking havoc in its wake. 

Yet, as I gaze at its tranquil facade, 

With beauty beyond what a mortal can believe 

I can’t help wish upon the stars

Mere reflections in the looking-glass…

I want to feel the rushing wind 

Along my agile arms,

I want to sway to silent music 

And wave my feather-veined willow leaves.

I want to understand the call 

The earth seems to echo. 

I want to sympathize with chiseled stumps 

And confabulate with the critters.

But as I watch the rippling tide 

I can’t help but notice the stars quivering,

Out I pluck a shard of our pollution problems 

And watch the river wither.