The dirty river flows south, taking with it a heritage that will be lost and forgotten along the way.
Below the particles of dust, human waste and destruction there is life.
A consciousness struggling to survive through time and humanity.
Precious breath that longs to flow freely within us, but dies a thousand deaths from battles against regression to the beginning of biblical times.
And another thousand deaths from the restraints of human rights, self conditioning and fear.
The river continues to flow, a lost breath for each step, dying a slow, distasteful death, reviving itself from the life support beneath.
Death for a hundred years.
Rain feeds the river its life, but it does not wash away the permanent damage.
The river flows, but death is certain.

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