Dirty Soul

Dirty Soul
Dirty Soul, dirty Soul, whisper where your course will flow.
Whisper all the tales you know. Tell me where your secrets grow.
Does the aged, marshy bay truly wash my sins away?
How many sins have you absorbed? How many sleep there now interred?
The light, a spark of musket ball, made of the wood a fire wall.
Where rushed the dogs in mad pursuit, the flame coiled up into the moon.
Dirty Soul, Dirty Soul, have you heard the tune I know,
of fiddles plucked beneath the moon submerged in estuarial gloom?
Sought you refuge in the lee of the mournful hanging tree,
Or did you pass the world on by wafting with the prairie’s cries?
Dirty soul, dirty soul, did you hear her moans below?
Did you sate a holy thirst when you swept the savage up?
When they sought flesh of priest and kin, did you swallow all their sin?
“Wicked! Wicked!” they all scream, but are you darkened with their deeds?
The mud, the blood is all they see, but I know places you run clean.
The gnarled claws of roots scoop up the lifeblood of the arms of God.
Dirty Soul, Dirty Soul, where do all the barges go?
On your back soars rich cargo beneath the rusted bridge shadow.
Though the pavement pass it by, with memory it cannot die.
A skeleton of ages borne upon its back to lighten your load
Of year’s of hapless passersby who its age they now decry.
“Cut the ugly beast in two!” They care not for the worlds it knew.
A history they cast aside to sate a sterile, modern pride.
The bridge is gone, the trees subsume, but never you can they uproot.
Do you laugh at all our deeds when you babble in the reeds?
For Second Coming do you wait, beloved cradle of our state?
Will God to you new life bestow when on your banks new life will grow?
Dirty Soul, dirty Soul, will then all your streams run gold?
When the dross is burned from thee, will your waters then run clean?