Delta
Photo by HenryPhotos/iStock / Getty Images
The sun beats through a four panned window
Shedding light on a time when cotton held music.
Notes in a minor key,
Through ghosts in the machine,
Sing to me about complicated themes.
Brick by brick fire expeditiously rips though history
Gently strumming chords built on thirds.
A temple built for ordinary men
Finds solace in each individual grain of dirt.
Its melody, its rhythm, its soul
Its shallow unmarked graves in the shadows,
By the side of a gravel road.
It’s dreams etched in folklore
That have come to a crossroads.
In darkness and distant sunsets
Humidity seeps on everything,
In the swamps of Charley’s
Mississippi Delta.