Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Funeral Powwow
The drumming is louder than my heartbeat
And a rush of panic is released into my veins.
Can it last for hours? Will it? Why?
It's louder than the music that pumps
From the computer, louder than the
Thoughts that pursue my mind.
It's loud.
I wonder what the dancers look like,
I wonder what colors they are wearing;
I wonder what is painted on their faces,
Is it a look of despair, or sadness, or hurt.
Or do they feel at all like we do?
They are the chanters, they are humans
Wearing the masks of other humans.
They aren't kidding themselves but they
Know who and what they want to be.
With open windows, the drumming ceases
But its memory seeps in with the cold air.
January 23, 2006
Suge
And a rush of panic is released into my veins.
Can it last for hours? Will it? Why?
It's louder than the music that pumps
From the computer, louder than the
Thoughts that pursue my mind.
It's loud.
I wonder what the dancers look like,
I wonder what colors they are wearing;
I wonder what is painted on their faces,
Is it a look of despair, or sadness, or hurt.
Or do they feel at all like we do?
They are the chanters, they are humans
Wearing the masks of other humans.
They aren't kidding themselves but they
Know who and what they want to be.
With open windows, the drumming ceases
But its memory seeps in with the cold air.
January 23, 2006
Suge
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Funeral Powwow
Funeral Powwow
