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Rio's Attic: Celebrating the Life and Times of a Dearly Missed River Phoenix
It's strange how the name River can fit so aptly to River.
Like a River, River Phoenix flowed into
wherever the course flowed, passing through and by
silently and with indifference.

A river is said to be the ruler of the land for,
it quenches the thirst of the passer by,
cleans the tainted and carries within itself
the burdens of others.
A River flows into a stream,
a stream flows into a sea (the big wide world).
Suddenly the lone River falls prey to violent tides,
loses control and is unable to cope
with the big wide world.

A violent tidal wave is the River's attempt
to cry out for help, but no one hears,
instead the poets dream,
and a child does nothing more than scream.
Then its over, and we ask what happened
deep within the core of its soul, who saw?, who heard?,
who listened?, who cared?, who cried?
Cried so much as to even equal an inch
of that pure water that flowed through its body.

Stephen Dorff - Hertfordshire, United Kingdom
March 9, 2000


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