Could it be that the rivers of my heart run with good waters?
Could that really, ever be?
The fragile banks erode and
Crumble into sorrow,
But the sun glints off the surface still each morning
And there is solace in the shining.

Could that brightness really be mine,
After everything I should have done
That might have changed the arc of time?
Like words I could have said
That would have left
Certain hearts alive.

I haven’t fought all the right fights
And some beautiful things have died
Right here in my hands,

But I think there is a chance
That these waters still run true;
The mountains stand unmoved,
After all.

And the rivers of the heart rush and fall.

They rush and fall down the rocks and

They are still pure.