Drums Cease…Silence Gathers

It is to the dust that man doth march.

Shallow are the breaths upon sod to soon part.

Cadence called forth by drums of night.

Distant once, yet come now nearer on evening light.

Fair hearts fall soon to the quickening sound.

Come now signs; omens, premonitions to abound.

Chalices are raised to a cornucopia of life.

Dragons which steal dreams now come into sight.

Drums grow louder each weary step of the way.

Mourners line streets from cradle to grave.

Percussions blind those of forgetful sight.

Whispers blow memories dust deep into the forested night.

Drums cease…silence gathers all around.

The conductor’s arms now close without a sound.......

J. Allen Wilson © THREE 2007