I had a drum once, I was like that - I kept mementoes of who I was. I kept it in a bag of brittle bones and rubber bands. It had its own rhythm, its own beat and I would dance to it, jerk about like some mindless marionette.
Long time ago I exchanged it for a stone which I tossed into the sea; tides ebbed and flowed and cast it to the shore, a mere pebble on some sequestered beach. I am smooth round and polished, yet but for a rare day - a day when sun breaks through the clouds, I am cold as ice. I am content with that.
Written for Form for all at dVerse where Sam has us write prose poetry. Thanks Sam.
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author: Remi Mathis