Nov 30

Drummer

Bated breath
Shadows, sullen whispers
And eyes. Infinite eyes – the audience collected. 

Gentle rhythms rock the night. 
My feet on the ground. Hand on the door. Cup on the floor. 
Syncopated. Deliberate. 
A life?
An endless piece. 
Snatched, taken out of time. 

The curtain’s been here for years.
They are not content. 
They do not jeer – no compost thrown. 
But they plead
More! More! 

We all have our obligations.

March on, my love 
There will be time to think one day.