DRUMBEAT OF THE SAINTS

DRUMBEAT OF THE SAINTS

I swore I heard the rumblings, nothing less than quaint,
This morning when I first arose to apply my rouge and greasepaint.

I swore I saw a chariot go streaking forth the skies.
I swore I saw the face of God with these two doubting eyes.

I swore I heard the tribal rhythms, drums and cymbals crashing,
The thunder of that long black train with all its lights gone flashing.

I swore I saw the funeral pyre, the friends and neighbors mourning,
As straight into the sunset bold, my soul it went a’soaring.

I swore I saw renting of garments, I swore I heard gnashing of teeth,
As my body lay an empty shell upon soft but sterile sheets.

I swore I rose above it all, lost in space and dangling,
And from my perch above it all, I gained new understanding.

And there was nothing else to ponder, nowhere left to run,
My work beneath the earth’s big sun, at long last had been done.

I had been a gambler and a huckster all my life,
But I found a peace of heaven in my true love’s deep blue eyes.

I swore I heard the rumblings that echoed far and wide,
Across the golden valley and the peaceful mountainside.

I drank it in, embraced it all, and knew it all was good,
And came at last to stand steadfast where all the angels stood.

I swore I heard the rumblings, they were nothing less than quaint,
The still and sacred pulsing of the drumbeat of the saints.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED