Rivers In The Night

The reins fell to the floor, grips moist of sweat, strength was no longer hers, and she was too fatigued to even face the dark walking nights, and no more can she hold the reins, none of wind or rain, none of night or day, none of moon or sun.

No tears enough can keep her by the fires of the night, no more flowing precious thoughts, no soft thoughts to ever etch the skies, no rivers to dance in her soul, no words come to carve hearts or souls so precisely into the skies of intricate.

No strength to walk, nor run, no tears left to cry with, no time to die as he walks beneath her surface with a slight terror, and he slithers through her veins, trickling through her bloody Cree rivers, while he watches, and watches to see the scrolls dancing eloquence across of what once were her blissful blue skies.

No longer can she live, nor can she even die, not even a little, not like her little Apache friend, and not a sigh to heave into the stilled air as she took the strength left in her, held her head up high and walked away into the night of forget.

© Rena Scribe 2015

Author's Note

Originally written in December 2007