The Drum (Original Poem)

I still remember
the sky was
a deep sapphire
that afternoon when
the dead drone
of the drum began.

Their coffers were
far from empty
but they were still hungry
for power and dollars,
their only Gods.

Not a hint of regret
laid across the
lips of lady liberty
but it did her people,
they are good people,
simple people, mostly.

The propaganda machine
had spewed its stinking filth
for years leaving us so numb
we were willing to believe anything,
but this time felt different.

Divisions were melting away,
our world was shrinking
and people were thinking,
yearning badly for a lasting peace...
so the powers that be
brought us only war.

After all, it's never been
their sons or daughters
who get the blood
on their hands,
only the simple people
are sent to inflict the wounds
and collect the scars that
will cause hate and pain
to rip through generations,
like a tsunami.

Our deepest trouble
were the false flags of fear,
their hypnotic switches
causing one to question
what they know to be true
in their hearts,
this is all they need.

Easy belief
of these kinds of lies
have always been the
weeds in our garden
but the peace has always
been there within us.
We see the shine of it
from the corners of our eyes
deep down like a
gold nugget flashing,
nestled in the smooth rock
of the river bed
to uncover it, we need
less of their logic
and more reason
but we must learn
this quickly before
our world lies
smoldering in shambles
at our feet,

This time
there will be
no second chances,
no Phoenix rising,
not this time.
Through all of this
they failed to realize
that this is just the sort of thing
that turns peaceful souls
into revolutionaries,
our righteous and beautiful voices
may just shout them down in unison,
most of us, we are just
simple people after all,
simple folks who want
the chance to succeed or fail,
fill our lungs with clean fresh air,
and slay our demons one by one,
have ourselves a bit of fun.

But in the distance
I hear the dreaded drum,
the dead drone
of the drum.

Eric Vance Walton