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.