In the shaft of light,
Bathed in harsh white,
she stands
in her bardic guise
before expectant eyes,
A worn drum in her hand.

The beater she brings
to the battered skin;
The rhythm, first slight,
Grows, swells, a steady beat
As mind and heart meet,
and words begin their flight.

She speaks of life,
Of passion, strife,
deep loss. Hope, aglow,
as broken hearts mend,
with time taken to tend
new forged love that grows.

Entranced by the song,
They sit silenced, the throng
swept up by image and feeling,
Hearts dancing with rhythm,
Emotions, once hidden,
Awakened, leaving them reeling.

Love, lust,
Broken trust,

Sorrow, tears,
Betrayal sears.

Comfort, peace,
Heartbreak ceased.

Stillness.

The last words are a sigh,
And the drumbeat dies,
Skin trembling from rhythm’s past rage.
In the silence she stands,
Dumb drum in one hand:
The songstress alone on the stage.