The River

What shall I bring to the river

who flows so agelessly

without my offering?

How shall I answer its call

the river who asks

me to enter in?


What will it do to me

this river

if I trust it with my all?


Will it wash

my stuttering story

my tongue-tied stagnant words?


Will it heal

my naked scars

while listening to the cause of them?


Will it know

my feeble failures

my frequent drownings in the rushing flows?


Will it hear

my gasping breath

and see my lonely cries for help?


Will it see

my awakening soul

and understand my stumbling path?


The river flows,

listens, knows,

And unmoved,

whispers above

my clumsy words and palsyed-fears

I heed, I touch, I know, hear, I see


Your longing eyes

Your thrashing calls

Your wounded scars

Your long-waved arms

Your futile struggles against the tides

I know them all and still I flow…


The River always does

Chris Ahrends

July 2012


About chrisahrends

For me, writing is a healing art aimed at healing me - and if in any way it resonates with you - that would be wonderful. I live in Cape Town, South Africa; work in the Anglican Church of Southern Africa and am married to Jacqui Macqueen Ahrends.
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