The Drumming of the Wall

Behind the wall the drums were beaten, loud as they could be

But I stood on the other side, deaf, and blind for all I could see

Yet things occurred on the other side, I knew it by the word

Passed on over the wall, and also around where it had stood.


From the top, a bird told me, that the drums were ruffling her plume

The steady beat, the infernal sound, could only be bad, she assumed.

While her ears were hidden, underneath her feathers so bright

She couldn’t hear a squirrel she said, and had to hunt at night


Around the corner, behind a bush, a squirrel sat in a tree

He said the drumming wasn’t so bad, “It didn’t seem so bad to me”

“It keeps birds away that chase me, who put a strain on my tail”

“It sometimes shook the nuts from the trees, and fed me from the trail”


I must get out and see for myself, perhaps I would like the beat

Maybe I would find rhythm, a music so loud but sweet

To listen to just birds, that sing a negative song

Or listening to just squirrels, also may be wrong


I must climb the wall, or go around its span

To find a new way of seeing things, to find my life again

Open my eyes and my ears too, to see the truth just for me

Cause if I hide behind the wall, innuendo is all that I’ll see


Barbara Blackcinder


About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a need for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and mine when you read those from me.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s