The Drummer

The worst thing
In his life
The four a.m. alarm,
– He hates the rhythm,

But it has started
And in his head it plays on –

With its beep, beep, beep,
And beeping, beeping
Beep, beep, beep,
Beeping, beeping, beep.

Monotone digi,
Constant nagging midi,
To him a sound of the city,
Constantly, never changing
Four a.m. beeping-

But soon his hands pounding
All while birds are singing
Chirp, chirp, chirping
Whistles whistling wistfully
The trees are sleeping
Soon the sun is rising.

-His hand waving
In the darkness craving
Furiously lurking
To stop the beep, beep,
Never changing beeping, beeping.

Beep, beep, beep
Suddenly a new rhythm
Snoring, in, out, in, snore
Beeping, beeping, beeping,
The ugly morning symphony
Snoring, in and out, beep beeping
Snoring, beeping, snoring, beeping
Thoughts of his wife rolling,
His arm fleeing
Blindly knock, knock, knocking
Finally the monster ceasing.
She is far from waking.


Head weary and low, eyes drunken with sleep, he uncovers the drum set at the end of the pier. He takes his seat and pops his fingers, head still hanging. He positions his feet to the base pedals, takes the sticks from the velvet pouch hanging over the right symbol. Still looking down at his lap, he prays. He breathes in deep, then out, and the sleep within him flows from his lips, a white fog and disappears into the crisp morning air. He raises his head a little, looks out over the water, then raises it a bit more. His eyes scan the water in front of him. The sea is like glass. He sees the twin of the crescent moon winking at him through the rippling water. He lifts his head completely now to see the sun peaking over the horizon, far away, and as it slowly snuffs out the streetlights of the sky, he raises first his left hand, then his right. With his sticks pointed straight into the air, as if commanding the sun itself to rise, he breathes in deep again, slowly, softly, then out. He waits for the signal. He watches a bald eagle as it glides down toward the water scouting for breakfast. He waits just seconds more. He begins to hear the creatures of the morning and so begins the song. He joins in by playing a slow, melodic march as the sun lifts itself into the sky. His march crescendos into perfect harmony with nature, and together, the two play a goodbye hymn to the stars, the owls, and all the creatures of the night.

Up, up, rise ye Star of life
Rise high into the sky.
Listen to the call of the birds
Forget the wolf’s,
Tis time he find his bed.

Up, up, rise ye Star of life
Rise to awaken the fawn.
Warm and move the wind
And bring forth the dawn.

Up, up, rise ye Star of life
Let yesterday’s sorrow be washed
And shadows find their form.
Rise high and strong
Rise high sing Your song.


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