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The Drummer

1
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of Humanity wrapped in a shroud.
Well he beats of the bone bags Dame Famine's designed
As she ravished and plagued us since dawn of mankind;
And he beats of Lord Boss letting oranges decay
While a child suffers scurvy and passes away;
And he beats of the beasts we've so needlessly slain
And of critters and creatures cast off in distain;
And he beats of combatants who're dying deceived
As the merchants of murder count profits received;
And he beats of the rape and the killing of war
And the mind blinding sorrow we blithely ignore.
He beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.
2
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of abuse that we try to becloud.
Well he beats of the barons and princes and kings
Who have broken our backs while crushing our wings
And he beats of the bribes that the powerful make
To key politicians who fawn in their wake;
And he beats of the waifs bound and chained to machines
And of slaves in the fields and other such scenes;
And he beats of decrees stating all men are free
While ignoring the blacks and their agonised plea;
And he beats of the tyrants in clerical garb
Who have tortured with faggots and thumbscrews and barb.
He beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.
3
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud.
Well he beats of the spirit the rack couldn't break,
And the flame of the flesh that was burned at the stake;
And he beats of the minds that could never be chained
By the faith that was living while ignorance reigned;
And he beats of the struggles when Spartacus rose
Having tired of shackles and slavery's woes;
And he beats of the women who'll die to be freed
And will never give up till they finally succeed;
And he beats of the progress outliving the jeers
So belying the pessimist's fatuous sneers.
He beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.
4
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of the sights that he's seen from a cloud.
Well he beats of the meadows pale yellow and green
And of lakes in a wood and a river serene;
And he beats of the passion when lovers have lain
With their bodies entwined midst a field of lush grain;
And he beats of the joy when a mother has smiled
While she's nursing her baby, her newly born child;
And he beats of the sorrow upwelling inside
Leaving shadows and ruins when loved ones have died;
And he beats of faint images haunting his dream
Of a time when compassion and love reign supreme.
He beats and he pounds till we see what he saw
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

***

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

And he beats of Humanity wrapped in a shroud
And he beats of abuse that we try to becloud.
And he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud so proud.
And he beats of the sights that he's seen from a cloud.

And he beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw
And he beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw
And he beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe
And he beats and he pounds till we see what he saw

And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

And his hands are all broken... and bleeding... and raw...

poem by Terry O'Leary
Added by Poetry Lover
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