And There Was No Rain

I hear the drums.

A cold night waits
in sleepless fits I find my sins
they wait for me like faithful friends
reminding me of pasts that cannot be undone
and fears that would consume.

I hear them.

The hottest suns
that baked my dream-filled days with diamonds and hope
and showed me lifting songs
and haunting pains
and joys in lives unknown by my brothers.

The beat is steady.

What that snakes and scorpions failed
and men with guns in foreign lands
who’s black hearts bled in cruel laughter given
at the sight of innocence wounded.

I hear the drums.

Mother weep at my grave
and pray at my side
I am gone astray
and in this hot wind I feel nothing
but chapped lips and dried throat and burned skin
hot like an oven
the fire will not subside
and with it a gripping pain of slavery.

The beating builds.

But in cold icy caves beneath colder mountains
I found a heart that would not lie down.

Hear me mother.

Where is my armor?
I am pierced and I have no shield
and in the hot sands I will be forgotten
a child of promise full of hope and wonder
lost by his own hand
a long drawn out battle
I could not find my sword.

But still I hear the drums.

Sing to me sweet Jesus
tell me of what my heart desires
Will I die in this sand?
Will it always be so hot and so cold?
Will I be covered in the desert dunes and forgotten?

I know you see.

I know you hear the drums.

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