I tried to warn you
hear my drum
but is it me or you
who beats this song.
Embrace the darkness of your fears
for they will lead you
to the one you become.
Their time has come
Listen to my drum.
Hold on to close relations.
It is our hearts that beat as one
but a clock
that beats out separation.
Minutes are gifts from the tide
not portioned out measures paid on the side.
Listen to my drum.
Hold on to the ones of warmth
for we are cold too long
to harbour life=s little fevers.
It is our hearts that know this rhythm
that we do not continue
to speak with dis-ease.
But who knew
the reason;
that the passing of a life
would one day, this day, hear my drum, come.
Memories are the circles
from spending the time.
Eyes see this knowledge
gathered from the mind.
Hearts filter it through
salvaged into season
and sifted for the young.
It's not over
till the fast ones' sing their lament to the moon:
'Where did the sun go, too busy, I don't know.'
I tried to warn you
hear my drum
slow and persistent
stop the sun.
Harvest the time before it's gone.
Eternal hearts, field the minutes sold to the hour of the passing sun.
For time crosses borders in the moment of shadows,
the down and across become one and the same.
Time mixes with space
and a drum sounds a warning,
Owl's call is the same, at all times of the mourning;
time ran out, say I love you and say good bye, pardon the heart,
another's time has arrived.
LauraLee K. Harris
