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Show us your wings African child,
Prove to the world you can fly:
You know you can fly.

Show us your soul African child,
Prove to the sky it is bluer:
You know it is bluer.

Show us your Magic African child,
Prove to the night you are a dream:
You know you are a dream.

Show us your fire African child,
Prove to all you are a dancing flame:
You know you are a dancing flame.
Captain Trips Mar 19
sauntering to the
beat of an unheard rhythm
invisible drum
annh Mar 10
I am not my words,
Nor am I the letters from which they are formed;
I am a beating drum,
A cacophony, a riot keeping pace with mortal time;
Spinning order thriftily,
So as not to cheapen the divinely proclaimed language of the soul.

‘Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’
- T. S. Eliot
s y kalindara Oct 2020
My heart is an addict of fiction.

Awakening your pages with every drum,
it beats to remind me
that you're my very own
perennial paramour
and I'm so sick of its pounding propaganda.


Copyright © 2020 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Why does my heart keep insisting that you're the love of my life?
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2020

~
I stir as the sun grazes the lines of my face
The heart beats fast, a wardrum in its cage
The song of
doom boom doom echoes,
the pain spins on its lace
But I know that I'll move forward,
For I'll flower, not stay the same

~

I woke up, still lost in a state of introspection I was in yesterday. Its really easy for me to be lost in my own head but despite it, I try to keep on focusing on the positive.
Much love, light and blessings,
Stay safe everyone
Lyn 💜🙏
Tahlia-rayne Jun 2020
You make my heart beat
like a drum echoing in a
darkened hallway
Val Vik May 2020
It was your heartbeat
The first sound I ever heard. . .

before I was born.
Haiku # 7
neth jones Apr 2020
beating on the rough skins
tummy to vibration ;
              the strum
                    that actions
               your cutting heart
wetting out for mammal
i clown on the drums
go to town
vetting out the taughtless thought within you
it's tough
it is trough
seeking you out
your sputting heart
a mation behind the curtain
a certainty somewhere
gulls creation
your bird of weather
your brimstone
your ***** of feather
your tell
your chore
and your wreckage yard
I pass you a code
to rive free your missive
with glee
you can mare
yawn over into public
with folds
scruff
and a sodden little battle cry

I drum for this
I drum for your honest heart
that you can be
locomotion
you can be domicile to yourself
sparkhouse
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