The Rivers fallen stars.

The rivers once course now above its sand banks
releasing newer challengers a long blue grey line
That replaces the centuries of work and planning 
ie, same self poets prayer reads, we became the now
reborn my wane dashing the hopes in red line tides
Little wealth will retreat to a darker corner of spill
cause and cane becomes the heavy thunder of blight
that brought rain from upper circles to lower gates
releasing tone light and silent rewash of the kept soil 
The soul not withstanding a wash breaking the rules
The belief not giving back belonging to the world
not a partner of clear doom the only out reach lost
to a in-climate mess is the inability to make or own
In that ushered community the only reach of its mess
Is to ask what more providing the world over with
too little or too much is the greatest challenge belief
Can only be the last straw restated.


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