Like A River

Very much like a river, the life sways
So as never to be accepted,
My oppressed conscience is like my finger,
My finger is the oppressed conscience.

I have a hold on the finery of existence,
My lines reflect this accomplishment,
For it was a disaster and a tragedy
To accompany me while my sins persisted.

Very much like bliss, the life
Mends all thought and contentment enters,
This river called life begins
And ends without telling us.