War Drums

March to the drums;

deep rhythms that echo

from the bedrock of consciousness,

stirring up warrior blood,

spilled on every inch

of planet Earth.

 

Drums that call to war.

Drums that shake the ground.

Awakening deep and elder things,

that turn in their great slumber,

to crack the earth

and split the minds

of blood,

and tribe,

and time,

to the drums eternal beat.

 

Even in times of peace,

the warrior hears them.

In times of plenty,

long after the combat has ceased,

and the fresh wounds,

and horrible loss,

are but jagged scars

and weathered monuments;

the drums beat on.

Slow,

and in time with the rhythm

of his resting pulse.

 

Proper and civilized we become.

Fat on the land,

and the sea,

and the sky;

we devour our own dominion.

All the while,

our enemy watches,

and waits.

For the cadence of conflict

resonates in his heart, as well.

He has meditated on it.

Woken to it.

Slept to it.

It has become

the beat of his own heart.

 

War is a song;

unforgotten.

It has played on,

longer than we can imagine.

The steps to the dance

are long spirals of memory,

knit to our genetic code.

The drums beat,

and our bodies move.

 

Listen;

can you hear them in your bones?

 

 

HG – 2019

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