Michael McGuire The Ghost Of A River
THE GHOST OF A RIVER
© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
You can trace her skeletal remains that still whisper of water and woe,
just a dry tear now it once cried rain and rainbow, you can see the
polished and sculpted bed of stone, and imagine the artist that carved
and caressed this bone, you wonder on the landscape; did she once
bathe in this dust, did the flow of her milk deliver unction for this rust.
And if you stay thru the stillness of your night findings, you can hear
the ghost of a river.
Only the river knows what time it is and winds no mortal clock, she
now has passed her wisdom to the senseless reason of the rock,
improvised hieroglyphics and babblings that sound no more but can
only be read, yes this her tombstone for this is where she would bury
her dead, now this lonesome unanswered wind is all that’s left of the
current she used to pull, she used to drive like a vein of diamonds into
the night when the moon was full.
And if you can strain the silence of the weary stars from your pulse,
you can hear the ghost of a river.
This print of her unmannered glory still moves all who take the sight,
in the windings and wanders still live her lust fed plight, and you
dream on the colors of her depths and shallows divine, and you wonder
if her waters ever flowed with lava and wine, in antediluvian rains she
was drenched the true soul of time, not clock driven as man; much
more like an engine of rhyme.
If you stop all thought and subordinate all senses to wonder, you can
feel the ghost of a river.
Nov02
