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Matt the Little Drummer boyI am Matt the drummer boy Whose broken drumsticks, mirror my heart Upon this oak tree I lay, injured and dying Overlooking the aftermath of such a bloody battle All of them dead, all of them who have died to my drumbeat Woman I have once loved, once drummed for Beating the rhythm of my heart All our dead, all have gone, no one remains I tap, on my drum, looking at all the heartache I have wasted No more battles for me Or at least that's what I thought lying here? But the humming near me is no bee It is no bird that I know, sings this song No flower that I know of smells so sweet And as I close my eyes, I hear the wind sing to me “Play just one last time for me, Matt my little drummer boy” With my closed and close to death, I whisper “I have no love left to give, oh sweet and beautiful wind.” I feel the wind become warmer, like that of summer “My little drummer boy, it was I, that saved you from the battle” Anger rages within me, “ A battle I never wanted!” I shout “But a battle that we all must face my little drummer boy.” “How can I trust you? How I can continue with my heart so bloody?” “Because now my drummer boy, you have been rewarded.” My eyes open, I feel death take a back seat Curiosity may well be my saviour? “How?” I say, as I feel my fingers play the drum gently The wind around me blew hard, and blossom fell from the tree More Blossom fell all around me Spelling out a name, that name was ‘molly.' Vote for this poem
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