Richard Picciuto was observant, not only of sights, but also of internal rhythms…this poem is from his first book, Reunion With A Truant Pen.

Drumbeats

Drumbeats in the distance create movement in my soul,
A restless kind of yearning that I don’t care to control

I don’t know when they started but I’m sure they’re in the script
That was written as my soul formed to be heard before the crypt

At times they keep a cadence that is peaceful and serene,
They sometimes create stirrings, though I don’t know what they mean

Sometimes they’re very forceful and they bring me to my knees,
At times they’re very calming and they bring my spirit ease

They call at any time of day from the east and from the west,
They call me when I’m peaceful, they beckon when I’m stressed

Who beats the drum is a mystery, I think they know me well,
The more that I’m tuned into them, the deeper is the spell

At times I’ve had to tune them out, one time I did for years,
Sometimes they’ve brought me passion, sometimes allayed my fears

Different beats for different people, different drummers beat and call,
All with the same creator, master crafter sought by all