The frenzied drums of the distant past
Definitely shall not be the last
As a perpetual echo reverberating in the space of the subconscious mind
Like a rudder guiding, holding unto a grind.
What differentiates one sunrise from the other?
As men rise and lift the blaming hand at one another
It’s the dawning sun that separates from the drums of the past?
Let the blood red wash me holy clean
As I hearken unto the drums of eternity, unto this sound my ears lean.
Shall I hug tomorrow and refrain from yesterday?
When the tears of yesterday have formed oceans of another day
Arrows of poison emanating from thoughts gone
As we lay in our beds when the dark comes and day done
Nature filled words have I spoken
That that which dawns after the day is done will not be broken
The perpetual voices heard and spoken by the day
Depart the formless imaginary and binds like clay
Leading our paths, making that which is, be
Then must I look to things which are not, not a function of what we see
Leaving behind those which were
Hearkening unto the drums, not of distant past, in pursuit, I can’t be stuck here.
