Whatever you say...


Drums

Drums,
sounding the approach of the enemy,
footsteps,
talking louder than words could ever do,
crunching,
of the leaves beneath the footsteps,
kissing,
betwixt me and you.

Talking,
the monotone mumble of the mouth,
boredom,
the lackluster drumming of my fingertips,
teachers,
the source of the boredom and the drumming,
desks,
for taking it all.

Excuses,
repeated again and again over time,
folders,
containing the referral that is the...
punishment,
why it exists no one knows,
ecstatic,
from my head down to my toes.

Whizzing,
of the bullet next to the ear,
fearful,
for all could end shortly,
blazing,
the muzzle flashes bring the...
blood,
that is upon my chest.

Hush,
no one says what no one hears,
the secret,
that everyone thinks is a lie,
mishaps,
they never happen expectedly,
smoking,
on what it's like to die.

Reading,
eyes scanning the page that everyone's read,
twitching,
for you know it's late,
buzzing,
the alarm clock rings and...
breaking,
for sleeping is too valuable to end.

Professor,
tell me the truth of all the years,
break-up,
blotching my white shirt with tears,
wonder,
why war is acceptable,
gun powder,
paints the late night sky.

Rending,
paper upon pencil the silence,
scratching,
vicious notes to be played tomorrow,
genius,
wasted upon the telltale white powder,
staining,
now upon your pants.

Caring,
you care not, but I care more,
whining,
why she'll never become mine,
tearing,
the flesh, I'll tear the bone,
dying,
for the razor tells no lies.

Nonsense,
the politician lays his orchestrated "truths" to work,
aspiring,
to be just like him,
shouting,
begging appeals to a deaf country,
wounding,
that will take time to heal.

Someday,
I'll be yours, you'll be mine too,
dreaming,
for that day to come,
blowing,
carefree pink bubbles,
smelling,
the tantalizing minty freshness,
pouting,
'cuz he won't give you some.

Drums,
it's the first line and the last,
looking back,
I can see all that has passed,
phazing,
through the year that never comes,
longing,
to hear the beat of the
--Drums--




Poetry by Lucas
Read 795 times
Written on 2006-05-22 at 21:01

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pa-ra-pa-pum-pum
and the bugler sounds the call....
wll it be advance or retreat
we all should know the not so secret code.

Good stuff!
2006-05-23