The Loudest Silence

Ah, time to breathe again and the notes flow into my ear canal while the synapses light up again and remember and forget. All else dims now and only my light shines. I close my eyes and think. I think and feel. I listen. Time passes and waits for not even 1 second.

No pausing.

Recollection and forgetfulness mingle in a relationship of mutual benefit while the soul struggles to reach the surface again for another breath. Not so lost as to where to go but rather when and why. A mirror reflects but only what we see and not the deep. The deep remains hidden, dark and quiet. No light allowed there. I wade often, in the dark with no hand to hold. I pretend to make time stand to still and imagine 1 second is a lifetime for me. I can do anything, be anyone and rise to the height of utter insanity and madness in a realm of disbelief – but it is only for a second.

I only know what I know and will never know what I don’t know. In a world where anything is possible, what would the impossible be? If the impossible was possible, then it would not be impossible. So is anything impossible? Or is everything impossible?

Mists of romance elicit a most strange reunion of who I was and who I am, clashing with the me who wanted a different future me. Time, my friend and enemy. Time, my healer and pain-giver. Time, my nemesis and side-kick. Time, my medicine and my poison. You hurt me while you love me. You love me while I hate you and I love you while you hate me. Oh, the irony. Dreams are, just, dreams. Ideas are only thoughts. The mind controls all and the body follows. The heart is the slave and the mind is the master. When the master is sick, the slave suffers too as the battle for control begins in the strangest of ways. And the body endures the battle as best it can without showing the scars, the bruises and marks. A long-enduring suffering of reality versus ideology.

My Creator is silent. Creation makes the loudest noise but I don’t hear Him. Sadness.  I turn around in the rain with only the mud showing my footprints of where I once walked. Washed away in a second. A pity, I suspect. Such a pity.

And, now, the chemicals run around inside my head in the hope of maintaining a sane man who once was sane. Dependent on man for man’s sake, a slave and devout follower of the normal. A prisoner with no cage you can see is still a prisoner and a man is only as free as he believes. Bind him with a string and tell him they are chains and he might believe it.

Oh God, you had so many chances. You took none.

© The Drummer Poet


I say, “Oscars all round!”

So few are honoured for their portayal of fictional characters in front of lenses and lights. Pretending to be someone they’re not. So many chances afforded to get a line right, to rephrase and rethink a scene, to re-enact and replay a role to which they are better suited. We make them into gods and goddesses, heroes of our lifetime and place them in the upper echelons of stardom where the common mere mortal man may never exist. We shower these souls with accolades and rewards, fame and notoriety, worship and  adoration. They almost seem…beyond human.

Ah, but we forget. It is NOT the few who portray falseness as if it were fact and live in dreamworlds where consequence is of no consequence. No, look around. One is surrounded by actors and actresses! The masks are on and the play begun and the world, as William once said, is indeed our stage. No lenses nor lights here to accent or enhance. The reality of our fakeness shines through every line we deliver. We create our fiction with every breath we breathe and return to reality when nobody’s watching and the lights go down.

Everyone around you is playing their role. They play it well. No-one to see the hurt. No-one to see the pain. No-one to see what life is really like for the actor imbibing their character (or is it the other way around?). Yes, William, all the world is a stage!

I say “Oscars all round!”

Bravo! You great pretender!

…for the remarkable portrayal of fictitious, fanatical, superficial and superfluous characters by those of us who refuse to be real. The masks worn by the dancers reveal the sad true state of the human condition in a world of disproportionate relationality. We’ve gathered who we really are and swept truth under the carpet of lies. We present ourselves as actors of amazing ability to be someone that we’re not. We’re all imposters, delivering our lines behind smiles of disdain while we laugh with emptiness, longing for someone to take off our mask and see us for who we really are without the lines, the makeup, the script, the pretense.

Oscars all round for you, the actors of countless generations whose true selves we’ll never know.

© The Drummer Poet
Written : 14/05/2012

Slipping by

Trying to hold back time. My hands cleaving to the hour hand. “Stop!” I said to the clock. As if time would listen to me! I pulled and pushed. I swung and swayed. But the ticking never stopped. It would never cease. A full revolution complete and another moment gone by while I wrestled the arms of unswerving devotion to the art of measuring spaces in life. A monster created by the absence of longing and with the commiseration of Father Time.

Stepping back to re-evaluate:

what time has taken
what time has lost
what time has created
what time has cost

I came to the conclusion that time was my enemy and, in an ironic twist of universal fate, my friend. I’m looking at you, Time. I’m watching you now as you watched me. I’m growing again and flowing again and sowing again and deep, deep down, I count the spaces you’ve filled.

© The Drummer Poet
Written : 24/04/2012

Winter blue and Autumn flew

I looked up into the blue, oh so blue, sky. Not a cloud in sight. The only colour over the laminate of blue was the white of my breath dancing in wisps and puffs in no particular direction.

To listen to the silence around me was a refreshing and redemptive experience to say the least. I closed my eyes to take it in. Yet I could still see the blue all around. The biting of the cold faded into the back corner of my mind somewhere as I embraced, again, my old friend Winter.

I held on to Autumn as long as I could. But goodbyes are ultimately inevitable. A sad and regretful affair, this romance with the colours changing to warm when it gets cold. But time fears none.

So, the Winter blue once again presides over the sky to embrace our way. And we continue, wrapped up in layers and pretending we’re warm. Smiling through chilled skin and frostbitten souls.  I love and I hate the Winter blue.

© The Drummer Poet
Written : 22/04/2012