Dameon Drums
Drummer
Rhythmical beauty, continuance of beat
Through hands and feet
They sit to the rear of obscurity
Confined to the shadows
Of some brighter lights
But what a sight
Cymbals ablaze
Sticks that amaze
A somewhat demonic aura of aggression
This profession of subtle power
Shrouded with suspicion
Wild men
Fallen women
They listen for a pulse
To hear a heartbeat
To sense, feel, yet conceal
The tender constructs of timing
Strange solitary madness envelops
An airy silence; fingers twitch:
A lull before the storm
Cymbals no longer symbolic as
A Frenzy ensues
Ferocious, outrageous
When viewed it looks random
Limbs that shift with accurate abandon
Danger meets darkness
As if Hades were entered.
Skin: played, sweating.
At the back of the stage
Their journey comes home
Backbeat through grooves slowly
Removed, restrained and chocked
The light never reaches the drummer
Just a shimmer
They sit, still, waiting in hope:
They know.
Steve Holloway.
Nuff said...........
