The steady pounding rhythm
Coursing through my veins
The sign I'm still alive
The beautiful, yet mundane
Focusing, I close my eyes
The thumping fills my fingertips,
Flows to my toes
The beat is in my temples,
At the bridge of my nose
This is the surest thing.
Ever present, unchanging
And the irony of
The inevitable truth:
The beat that never comes
The last final pulse
Of that steady pounding rhythm
The cessation of my symphony,
An explosion of bombs.