Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

To my own drum


lay ears upon me
the steady beat of fever
the silent wings fly

I miss handwritten notes, long talks, music, and prayers. I miss Indiana friends.

I feel a victim of the present instant gratification culture. Unwittingly, I have been swallowed whole by a mob mentality of shoving and pushing our way to the top. The guise of morality when we know we are sinners. The breach of sacred life has been cheapened with money.

I know myself. But how well? And how well do I know you? Are we all numbers and votes and popularity slogans? Will I be diminished if the politicians and I disagree?

Perhaps I best live and let it all go. Release the slogans and messages, the poetry and art. Let my world be still. To then be reborn, so when I write or paint or dance it means I am living free. To not feed the monsters we all have become.

7 thoughts on “To my own drum

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