The Silent Drummer
Low tide five miles dry
deeper than despair
smooth as breasts wept upon
by a generation of fools — cool fools
squeezing every drop out of reality
exquisite precious oblivion
Young men sing it with a rage
they fear their lives won’t last too long
now’s the time to move along…
Sometime I too suffer this disease
future shock, hit me with a rock
but I know there is no future
for I am the Silent Drummer
this endless time of instant memory
which plays softly within me
sometimes in simple sorrow
the murmur of the creek
roar of the shadows
in a New York City street
rage and bloody teeth
disbanding governments
burning borders in delight
playing the war drums
of Asia and Africa
Paris and Philadelphia
Philharmonic orchestra
escaping only
very narrowly
total destruction
to sing the songs of time
with no end and no beginning
MünD
