Poem: Drums Stilled

Africa of course was and still largely is a tribal world, but so was America at one time.

Drums Stilled

Tribalism, just another endangered species
The genetic birthing of mankind’s humanity
passing like drum talk, smoke on the wind,
a scattering of ashes, borne away like breath
and leaving us breathless

Ancient forests may yet grow again, not these
Waters be refreshed, a wounded earth heal over
    Not here
    Not now
    Not ever

Tribal worlds will see no reclamation
Drums forever stilled, the flowing breast run dry,
nothing left to suck, but barren thumbs
Poetry Collection: Broken Pieces
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection
available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.