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     Un-civilization     Civilized

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection BROKEN PIECES available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.