Inside the Drum
By John Herlihy

Inside the drum, nothing is hidden;
The truth of the outside world arrives unbidden.
No one knows or imagines that I lay quietly inside;
No one wishes to reveal what they wish to hide.
Physical presence tends to put people on their guard;
Their deep dark secrets safely tucked away to safeguard.

People go about their business sounding their drum;
They pour forth their rhythms that resound and hum.
They lie, cheat, and steal thinking no one is around,
Anonymity carries its own weight pound for pound.
People speak about themselves in exaggerated tones,
For an undue advantage, they will abandon their homes.

I reveal that I am on the inside looking quietly out;
No one has any inkling that I am anywhere about.
Invisibility can sometimes serve a useful purpose,
A trait that allows me to burrow below the surface.
In certain traditions, I am identified by fixed name;
When my name is raised, individuals see the blame.

Inside the drum, I am the silhouette against the light;
I am the glowing light against the darkness of the night.
Inside the drum, I am the chameleon changing color;
The secrets I hear reveal the depths of human squalor.
Inside the drum, I listen carefully but am never heard;
The modernite mentality considers the unseen absurd.

My name is conscience, an inner spirit breathing flame;
I scorch the way of the world and hopefully induce shame.
Self-awareness allows people to think of themselves as free;
To do whatever they wish and to be what they wish to be.
However, I lay silently within, as life’s intricate net is spun
Listening to the whispers and cries of the beating drum.