The Drum

I still remember
the sky was a deep sapphire
that afternoon when
the dead drone
of the drum began,

their coffers were far from empty
but they were still hungry
for power and dollars,
their only Gods

not a hint of regret
laid across the
lips of lady liberty
but it did her people,
they are good people, mostly,
simple people

the propaganda machine
had spewed its stinking filth
for years leaving us so numb
we were willing to believe anything,
but this time was different

divisions were melting away,
our world was shrinking
and people were thinking,
yearning badly for a lasting peace
so the powers that be
brought us only war

after all it’s never been
their sons or daughters
who get the blood
on their hands,
only the simple people
are sent to inflict the wounds
and collect the scars that
will cause hate and pain
to rip through generations,
like a tsunami

our deepest level of trouble
were the false flags of fear,
their hypnotic switches
causing one to doubt
at they know to be true


in their hearts,
this is all they need,
easy belief of these kinds of lies
have always been the
weeds in our garden

but the peace has always
been there within us,
we see the shine of it
from the corners of our eyes
deep down like a
gold nugget flashing,
nestled in the smooth rock
of the river bed

to uncover it, we need

less logic and more ramble
but we must learn this quickly

before our world lies

smoldering in shambles,

this time
there will be
no second chances,
no Phoenix rising,
not this time

through all of this
they failed to realize
that this is just the sort of thing
that turns peaceful souls
into revolutionaries,

our righteous and beautiful voices

may just shout them down in unison,
most of us, we are just

simple people after all,

simple folks who want
the chance to succeed or fail,
fill our lungs with clean fresh air,
and slay our demons one by one,
have ourselves a bit of fun

but in the distance
I hear the dreaded drum,
the dead drone
of the drum.

War Drum

~Eric Vance Walton~



Books, Chocolate and Wine.

Much love and appreciation to the folks at the Scottish website; Books, Chocolate and Wine for featuring me and my work!

You can read the full segment here.

Alarm Clock Dawn

Focus is hazed 

as wing-tip 

dreams come calling

softly, persistently 

those starched seams of 

material obsession

trite expressions 

that seem to echo 

so endlessly

I’ve left it all behind, this time, 

left it all behind in my mind

the alarm clock dawn methodical 

in its wringing, starving, stealing time 

so stealthily that you hardly notice 

until one day you wake up faded, 

to a jaded, gaunt and hungry hue

I’ve left it all behind, this time,

left it all behind in my mind

So this is how it feels to be free? 

To be set adrift like some Coltrane riff 

when need’s an endless song

can’t tell you where I’ll be tomorrow 

I may be drawn back into the yawn 

of the alarm clock dawn,

balance is my only hope 

to end up somewhere 

in the middle.

~Eric Vance Walton~