ramblings and things
Sometimes the river keeps the lost
As they take their final rides
Drifting to and fro with
The cycle of the tides.
Sometimes the Pilots or the watermen
Can suggest where they'll be
If they they know where and when
They start their journey to the sea.
It's a solitary decision
So we seldom know why
Those lost souls choose
This way in which to die.
Maybe they've lost hope
Or maybe it's dark despair
That drives those poor souls
To end their lives in there;
Maybe it's ancestral memory,
For all life came from the sea.
Whatever their reasoning
That's where they choose to be.
For a brief time we look and mourn
For those missing and gone
While the uncaring river
Still just flows on and on.
Whether by accident
Or by their own hand
Life cycles finish
For those denizens of the land.
The ancient river flows
Largely unconcerned with man
On a timescale so much longer
Than any individual's brief span.
And the cold silver moon
Which holds the tides in thrall
Shows no emotion
As it overlooks all.
Drifting to and fro with
The cycle of the tides,
Sometimes the river keeps the lost
As they take their final rides.
The River