Old Voices

A river has many voices,
some you can hear
only if close to the water.

Some voices sing,
whether joy or pain the occasion.
Some fall, a caress by rain
on a skin inflamed.

Some cry out in pain and anger,
express emotion, or hide the same
in brief confessions of faith
or perhaps of sin.

Some voices shout
while others are papery thin,
the dry voice of ghosts
that still for awhile are ignored,
but are never stilled.

There are also those voices within
few seem to hear,
especially dear to the lonely.

It's hard to say
just where all these voices come from.
They are the flow
of a current that is fast or slow
as need demands.

These are not the sounds of a city.

Even in our sleep
we encounter a river of dreams,
relive old hopes and disappointments,
leaves of the oak
that hang on.