Long, long ago this riverside tale starts
No more the praise of divine holiness
The land altered virgin to whore at heart
Cities dot the plain praising only bliss

Rise up! The divine oppressor has died!
Nietzsche, Darwin, Derrida are your gods
Like cancer their prophets are multiplied
Their cities, bulbous and gross, the weak trod.

Nietzsche’s prophet carried a bloody axe.
“To be human is to ignore restraints;
I summon the supermen among you!
Cast off morality! Take what you will!

Darwin’s prophet held a dead finch aloft.
“You are the telos of evolution!
Only the fit should live; let the weak die.
Religion is the dream of foolish men.”

Derrida’s prophet lifted blank paper.
“Who can know what words really mean? Others?
Communication is a false construct.
None can truly know any other’s mind.”

Teachings sped along winds of lust and pride;
Death spread his wings as men embraced new thought.
Technology enabled moral slide,
Men no more bothered by “should,” “could,” or “ought.”

Through the turbulent land the river wound
Air foul with bullets and obscenities
Gaia corroded mound by shitty mound
River of health in cancerous body

Year after year the cities merge and swell
Mechanical order obscures the sky
No more by men is heard the tolling bell
And ever the river goes rolling by

Water of grace, flowing through ancient ash
Pagan citadels tower on all sides
Purifying stream in the midst of trash
Reminding the damned of hope which abides

Past the corruption—sale of soul and sarx
Silent over deeds, murderous and dark
Flutters the Dove, reminder of the marks
Water which killed, but man saved through an Ark

Down the river sailed the incarnate man
Weeping sorrowfully, broken with loss
To his death he went, according to plan
Intent with purpose, intricate as moss

Ever onwards the quiet river flows
Grace everlasting in blind damnation
Darkness intensifies; the river glows
Always, always, the hope of redemption.

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