River's ink flows deeply from his writer's quill,
He wields it's worth with signs of sublime skill,
And those magic words materialise under his will.
Where once was a vacant void of white clear light,
Now comes a sorrowful song aching for his sight.
Man's blood drips softly from his writer's pen,
He holds it's honour with odes of ovation often,
And those complex symbols collude in his den.
Where once was a musing mind of black air dark,
Now comes a powerful poem burning for his mark.
Tear's oil runs boldly from his writer's grace,
He bears it's beauty with paeans of perfect pace,
And those platinum verses protrude below his face.
Where once was a glorious gaze of silver blind pearl,
Now comes a tormentful tune longing for his girl.