The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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    I Fear’d The Drumbeats Marching

    By Joe Wood on Wed, 09/15/2010 - 9:17pm |

    I see

    A stupid dog

    I almost feel

    An angry hand

    I listen to music I cannot stand

    Then

    I make excuses

    For

    What is the use of watching

    Reflections

    Die in the sand

    I hear the sparrow humming

    I hear the drumbeat

    Coming

    I fear the likelihood of it repeating

    I look to the sky

    For an unseen hand

    While I’m eating

    Eating

    Eating

    Just to halt the movement

    To frighten the land

    Though I’m a believer

    I know the Earth’s round

    I can hear the alarm, ringing

    However,

    It isn’t the singing that alarms me--

    Maybe

    It’s just the sound

    I feel like I’m right

    But maybe

    I’m just frightened of a song

    Sometimes

    I feel like a person

    Who fear’d the hoof beat

    Holding the drum

    Perhaps

    I’m just a blind man preaching

    Needing to be rightened

    That’s just wrong

    Maybe the world isn’t going to Hell

    When

    The world

    Is just teaching

    Maybe it is I

    Not singing along

    Like ages of new things

    Pages

    Torn from a tree

    The old things are just versions

    Of visions

    To be

    So, no

    I am not troubled

    By everything

    I see

    Just as the world

    ‘Aint troubled

    By someone

    Like me

    　

    　

    　

    Comments

    Hi ya Joe!!! A little poetry is not going to do this site any harm.

     

    We are all just torn from a tree; instead of a rib is my guess.

     

    Thank you!!!


    by Richard Day on Thu, 09/16/2010 - 1:06am

    My liege!


    by Joe Wood on Thu, 09/16/2010 - 9:39am