The River Poem by Alfred Ramos

The river sits quietly dry
Waiting for a tear from the sky
Where lonesome doves have gone to cry
The river, the mother of life
Snakes through the valley as if cut by a knife
Waiting to nourish like a true mother and wife
The sky is a smoldering gray, tempting fate
The river’s sandy tongue reaches out for the bait
Savoring a thirst of which no one can relate
The river, once the taker of life
Standing still like a serpent ready to strike
At a twin sister that you don’t much like
The river lacks moisture at every bend
Driftwood stoically calls it a friend
Patiently waiting for a signal it cannot send
The river once a tormentor of man
Rage is a sentiment no one will understand
Yet calling to humanity with a roar of a plan
For now it sits perfectly still
Not knowing when it will get its’ fill
Possessing the necessity of a strong will
Then the clouds start to grumble
The thunder stands at attention ready to rumble
With no care as to whose life it will jumble
Then the lightning flashes
Droplets are cast like whip lashes
Hitting the dry ground like mini crashes
The river swallows them like a delicacy
A rolling roar feels like an ecstasy
Gathering momentum like you will never see
The river, the mother of life
Cuts a new valley with its new knife
Heading for the sea, creating new strife
Serving mayhem and chaos on its plate
It’s in a hurry, doesn’t want to be late
Alas it reaches the ocean; it’s found a new bittersweet mate