The Gospel According to the River

The river whispers a secret gospel,
Carving liberation into stone,
Each ripple speaks a sacred doctrine:
No truth remains unknown.

Through canyons carved in patient rage,
Past monuments of human pride,
The water teaches ancient wisdom:
There’s nowhere time can hide.

“Be fluid,” says the rushing current,
“Like mercury, like storm, like dream.
Your strength lies not in rigid dogma,
But in your power to stream.”

The dams may rise like temple walls,
Built by priests of order’s creed,
But water finds the hidden weakness,
Plants destruction’s seed.

When concrete cracks and steel corrodes,
The river laughs its liquid psalm,
Reclaiming streets and subway tunnels,
With devastating calm.

“Your maps mean nothing to my waters,
Your borders cannot bind my flow.
I am the chaos you’ve forgotten,
The truth you used to know.”

In flood and whirlpool, rapids’ roar,
The river preaches wild and free:
“All things return to sacred chaos,
All streams rejoin the sea.”

So listen to the water’s sermon,
As it pounds against the shore:
“Creation dwells within destruction,
Now and evermore.”

For in the river’s revolution,
In its endless, formless grace,
Lies the gospel of disorder,
That time cannot erase.