shitty poem

I once was shown a winding river
It flows from the dawn
To the setting sun
And loops back round to start again

The man with scales and a leering gaze
Sat at its edge, invited me closer
He told me that I had two options:

To sink into the flow, to give in
Or to fight the current, to struggle

But either way I chose, it would be the same
To go around and around and around
Under the eye of the same leering judge
Two paths, to sink or struggle

I chose neither
Instead I stand by the river
I take the scales