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  • Writer's pictureIona Stuart

The River - Poetry

Updated: Jun 3, 2020

I wander through this tepid haze,

Where mountains high surround.

Trying to break this endless maze,

Within my immortal soul is bound.

Entering into a forest thick,

Into the shadows of the trees.

What need have I to move as quick?

I let them bring me to my knees.

The wind blows around my head:

Howling gales run through my hair,

Awakening what I thought was dead,

Sweeping cobwebs from the corners there.

Then whence I came across a stream,

Where the waters of dark river flow,

Each gurgled breath a silent scream:

The last of whose I do not know.

And now I feel it in my bones:

The calm cold river rolling.

If I were to fall just like those stones…

Or perhaps I just keep strolling.

But why am I this tempted so?

Because I feel that all is said and done.

Now I watch the melting snow,

Down to the river I will run.

I feel the dampness as I wade,

Soaking away sins of the past.

Closing my eyes, all seems to fade,

And I take the breath that is my last.

All moves on without one soul,

Attracted only thither.

But they must go where I must go:

The wind, the wood, the river.

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