My Different Drummer
by Odin Roark

Like you,
It wasn’t always easy,
This marching away from the band,
This finding your own step,
Even at the peril of losing your way.

Might Thoreau have been right,
When you realize
You’re losing pace with your companions,
It’s because you hear a different drummer?

How rewarding the cadence,
The timbre and resonance of truth,
Where once robot-like goose-stepping
Begat only “Yes, Sir, No, Sir” perfection.

To make one’s own path,
To talk the talk,
Walk the walk,
March the march,
Is to know one’s own melody
As the only song there is.

So fear not the unknown.
Take up the arms of integrity.
Invade the purpose that fits you.
And if you become overwhelmed,
Listen again.

For that beat goes on,
And on,
And on.
You only have to hear it to march,
Waltz, shuffle, or boogie.