A River - Poem

A plain path lies at still wet feet, from which you cannot stray

You have no cause for fear or doubt, no reason for dismay

Beneath your feet are temples, tombs; valleys, mounds and ash

You may make a home here, for a while, ‘fore this path becomes a river

Beneath the surface, hungry, patient, mycelium sees your return

Mothers breathe their last, stars do fall, Notre-Dame still burns

Tears could never salt the earth, these days will always fade

You can till the soil for a while, ‘fore this path becomes a river

By the light of indifferent flames, we dance for your eyes

Witness our penance, behold our shame; tell us we are wise

Tell me I am good, burn my skin with heavens rays

We perform operas in the dirt, ‘fore this path becomes a river

You will never be lost by path or current

You will never be lost by growth or rot

You are not lost

You are not lost

You are not lost