The River

December 1, 2008
In my dreams there is a river
It sits in my mind until I wake
Thinking of it makes me shiver
This image of me on a riverbank

I lie upon the muddy ground
Soaked in dirt and greatly torn
With pale-white skin and hair unwound
With wrinkled skin and features worn

The moon is smiling overhead
The river is placid, midnight-blue
The bank is smooth and left untread
Like still perfection overdue

A scent of lavender drifts in the air
And my head is lifted to the sky
At the stars I gently stare
A dimming sparkle in my eye

The river flows in a silent tide
Washing my old hands outstretched
But when water and skin collide
I feel not a hint of wet

In steady exhaustion I remain serene
And my weary mouth breathes out a sigh
I close my eyes to the lovely scene
A whisper comes and I reply

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