For my Son
The drummer came up on stage, drumsticks in his hand
The spotlight was upon him – he here was here to lead the band
His tempo fast and loud at times, the drummer made us hear
Music hidden in our hearts but discordant to our ears
The drummer played on steadily as he led us with his beat
While we all kept in rhythm nodding heads and tapping feet
His drumming told a story, sometimes his and sometimes ours
We all felt his rhythm but we couldn’t feel his scars
We all came to hear his music never thinking it would end
Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt back then
His music told a story, one so different than we saw
He played with broken heart and emotions that were raw
Elusive whisper of a love that he’d never know
Visions of far off places he would never go
Elements thrown together casting demons in his mind
Alone with only thoughts; he knew he had no time
No one saw him get up, no one saw him go
We just sat bewildered with the volume turned down low
With no drummer keeping rhythm, the music ceased to be
It ended on that lonely night when he left us to be free.
Three hundred of us stood in line not knowing what went wrong
Looking up at us his eyes were closed; he’d drummed his final song.
The spotlight shining through him; no boundaries to his stage
He wanders through our memories while in our hearts he plays.
As the drummer keeps his tempo in a place we’ve yet to find
We’ll keep his music playing, if only in our minds.
His rhythms live within us: his times with us shine on
His drumming has been silenced, forever to be gone
Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt back then
I would give up everything to have that back again.
The Desert Curmudgeon 