He sat, no thoughts. | 1 |
City by city, his mind erased the people he had just seen. | 2 |
Could he have known them, he didn’t care. | 3 |
The smell of strong coffee, | 4 |
Of greed and peppers. | 5 |
The spray cans lost among the river weeds, | 6 |
Nobody remembers the artists and fools it incorporated. | 7 |
Slay the thoughts, sweet river, basking in the early morning sun. | 8 |
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Out of the blues and greens appears a prophet. | 9 |
His back leaned against nothing but free will, | 10 |
He sat on his box, staring into the river. | 11 |
Prophet wise, tell me now, | 12 |
How you are so peaceful and tranquil. | 13 |
Is it the breeze in your shoes and shirt? | 14 |
Is it the nourishment in your beard of gray? | 15 |
Or is it the river, who speaks in parables of love, peace and...? | 16 |