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The Drum of Time
The drum of time
Beats upon the skin
Of my inner ear
Alerting me, raising
Old questions.
A pounding
Refibrillating heart
Losing heart, caught
In the clutches,
The talons closing
In a circle.
A manacle
Woven out of my
Own dried blood
The loose skin and
Hair scaling
From my soul
The daily discarding
That chains me
To the pattern
Out of which
A yearning
For a soul feeding
Sipping from the cavity
Of my skull
I wait without
Wanting to wait
Listening to
The drum of time
Raising
New questions
Waiting.
Email: David Fraser
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