On a spring midday he went to the river to pray.
Frail aspens quaked, as the roaring water shaked.
Rested his head on a flowerbed.
Of Colorado blue combines, soft and pure.
The river yelled as she danced.
Her voice louder then two-hundred men.
The rivers tide is fast and wide.
Few stones dared to break the surface.
Her rage beat on them with a rapid froth.
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to hide.
She grabbed him in with her cold hands.
Golden leaves fell across the man.
Tossed him in into the fray.
Two otters floated by, enjoying the day.
But he was a struggling man.
He kicked and fought with all he had.
But she had run for a thousand years,
Fueled by mountains tears.
Her strength immense.
His body tensed.
Now he rests on a riverbed.
Cold and dead, cold and dead.
Her rage softened further down.
She had taken a life.
Her anguish immense.
She threw herself over that mountain side.
Took her watery body to the sky.
She falls each day.
Covers the birds in misty spray.
Pounds the ground with a cannon-like sound.
Now they rest in a mountains wake.
Tranquil and slow.
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Ryan Borg is an Old Cadet at New Mexico Military Institute within the SROTC program. Ryan has spent 5 semesters at NMMI and is going on his sixth. He spends most of his time reading every night in the library reading room, preferably fiction. Ryan has written articles for the NMMI newspaper, and he aspires to become a published fiction author himself. He loves learning more about developing his own craft and working to improve his writing!