The river stops here, just down the street
I’m live and have arrived- to see death repeat.
In this frozen mausoleum where time stands still,
Taking photographs like a visitor touring hell.
Forty-three years hence and I still cannot believe.
A cold dark wind rose from the depths of evil.
It stirred from the corner of the railroad overpass
And continued a deadly swath atop the hilly grass.
This road is stained with our country’s blood and grief.
Fifty-five thousand followed the fallen Commander in Chief.
They marched into the plaza and disappeared below the overpass.
As I walked from Houston and Main to a sniper’s facade inside the glass.
For those guilty of his murder, justice in God’s court soon .
The eternal crack of the rifles echo from 30 minutes after noon
I possess a persistent pain that cries forever inside of me.
The river stops here.
It will flow no more and will never be.