A Raging River

Like a river running backwards
through a not so empty town,
draining its contents
on each and every found.
Twisting like a crooked branch,
slapping at the wren,
turmoil at its very best
found with but one yen.
The desire of one jungle beast,
the rage defined within,
whose clear and cold skitting lines
danced upon the bends.
When soft as silk and running smooth
the ripples still are heard,
to light upon when near the wood,
and rest thy heavy head.
A traveler’s time shall come to pass
when one’s dear end is near,
to hear the angels high above
and pray ye have no fear.

*ACGraves – 2002

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