There is a constant, low hum,
A drumming in my head…
What about this? What about this? What about this?
Not all of it bad, but always busy-
Nor all weighted by an obvious urgency,
Though you’d never know it
Based upon how it drives me.
Part of it is worry,
Part of it simultaneously willing life
To hurry up already
And slow down all at once.
Some of it is past,
Some of it is future,
All of it making it hard, at times, to
Just live in the present…
Relentless rhythm leaves me crouched
In a very tense place,
Wired for sound in a rather tight space.
And I find I must be mindful to reject the race-
Or, at least, the parts that seek to drag me down
Into the pit of the
Thumping endlessly against my brain.
So, I use all my strength to push the
Beat to the background,
Though my thoughts threaten against the strain,
And protest-sometimes loudly-being contained.
“I need rest!” I cry. “Let me be!”
I clap my hands to my ears,
Sink to the ground in an
Effort to be free.
Quiet reigns for a moment,
And I just breathe.
But only a moment.
For it isn’t long the drum can be prevented…
But what about this? What about this? What about this? it begins again,
Amplifying the droning hum once more…