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Robert L. Martin

Rivers of Destiny

Rivers flowing into predestined places
from enigmatic sources to their chosen ends,
waters contaminated from the devil’s mount,
adrenalin surging and flooding the senses,
rivers gaining speed and empowering the spirit,
singing battle hymns and stirring the blood,
pumping it through the purple maze
and sending it over the waterfalls
into the basement of the heart,
up through the heat of the eyes,
the ire of the risen beast
and into the spirit of the evil doer.
 
And rivers with their foreboding sirens
flowing into predestined places
from the grace of God,
the paradise up on the mount
where the pure waters form and concur,
where they look out and plot their course,
their divine flowing that touches the heart
with teary eyes that can see
affliction and helplessness,
with sinewy fingers that can knead the mountains
until they become pliant and yielding,
with hands that can lift rubble off of broken bodies
from the spirited waters that flow inside,
the adrenalin anointed by the grace of God,
the adrenalin that forms from the dews of heaven
and flows in the rivers of mercy
into the hearts of the merciful,
the God chosen ones who can see into others
and feel a breath of despair.

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