The Drum
I still remember the sky was a deep sapphire that afternoon when the dead drone of the drum began,
their coffers were far from empty but they were still hungry for power and dollars, their only Gods
not a hint of regret laid across the lips of lady liberty but it did her people, they are good people, mostly, simple people
the propaganda machine had spewed its stinking filth for years leaving us so numb we were willing to believe anything, but this time was different
divisions were melting away, our world was shrinking and people were thinking, yearning badly for a lasting peace so the powers that be brought us only war
after all it's never been their sons or daughters who get the blood on their hands, only the simple people are sent to inflict the wounds and collect the scars that will cause hate and pain to rip through generations, like a tsunami
our deepest level of trouble were the false flags of fear, their hypnotic switches causing one to doubt what they know to be true
in their hearts, this is all they need, easy belief of these kinds of lies have always been the weeds in our garden
but the peace has always been there within us, we see the shine of it from the corners of our eyes deep down like a gold nugget flashing, nestled in the smooth rock of the river bed
to uncover it, we need
less logic and more ramble but we must learn this quickly
before our world lies
smoldering in shambles,
this time there will be no second chances, no Phoenix rising, not this time
through all of this they failed to realize that this is just the sort of thing that turns peaceful souls into revolutionaries,
our righteous and beautiful voices
may just shout them down in unison, most of us, we are just
simple people after all,
simple folks who want the chance to succeed or fail, fill our lungs with clean fresh air, and slay our demons one by one, have ourselves a bit of fun
but in the distance I hear the dreaded drum, the dead drone of the drum.
~Eric Vance Walton~