They turned to the river.
Some shackles were due for a shaking.
Rifts developed leaving only loneliness.
They listened, listened for the song
that would deliver them from upheaval.
Hours went by like skyrockets.
A cool breath rose from the hills,
and all was a frieze. There was reminiscing,
introspection, and regret.
Their fragile faith collapsed
initiating a “moment-of-truth.”
They buried their heads in their chests,
refusing even to speak.
The song they had sought died unsung.