Until We Reach the Drumbeat

 I hear a distant drumming,
but it is masked quickly by
the clanking of my shackles.
My ears grow deaf with
empty, soulless words of my
captors, yanking at my
chains at any given moment.
A long line of rotting prisoners
are ahead of me, behind me.
I am blinded of our destination,
only able to watch each
other slowly march to the
one place we've been dreading
our whole damned lives.
A small child falls to the
ground, fatigued and dehydrated.
I only watch as she is
slaughtered, but does not die.
She is tossed back into the
line of prisoners, a new hole
through her innocent gut.
I continue my dead and
indifferent march as I
hear a distant drumming.
It is steady & slow & waiting,
& it comes from the end
of the wood, where we 
will finally stop our dead
and indifferent marching.
From now until we reach
the drumbeat, we will
soullessly march 

to hell.

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