The Ghost of a Mouth

by Meg Roseman

Born of Love
This base-born son
Where dead men breathe
And ears receive the
Ghost of a mouth
Still spoken
Lineage unbroken
What empire stands for a thousand years
Yet bated breath still holds

Rain our words as,
Springs run to streams and
Streams run to rivers.
Tributaries of generations,
Where mountains stand unbroken,
Impassable monuments to Chronos.
Yet these,
Soft water ways
Carve still stone.

Bring your steel,
Bring your spears.
Your armoured creatures
Upon August shores.
Splice this abdomen of
Our sacred Albion.
And when you build your
Empires upon our stone,
And your roads entwine our land.
Leave,
But ruins.
The murmur of the wind 
Which bears your name

Bring your headland of spears,
Bring your feeders of ravens,
To rage across this sky.
Thursdays bellows felt
Through the dregs of this land.
Knot ropes across our girth
And where you stand,
Leave,
But an echo.
Whispers of a blind memory

Bring your cavalry
Bring your infantry
Twin lions bring
Our September king
Our new Sovereign
And
Leave us,
Your vassal.
Our homage which
Knows not your name yet
Speaks it still the same

Hear now this
Ghost of a mouth.
This mother tongue
Bearing adopted sons.

Bring what you will.
Take the water from our streams,
Take the stone from our mountains,
Take the breath from our skies.
But leave,

The words upon your lips