Benjibopper

The drums of commencement rolled
as they poured down into the fold
Two by two four by four patternally
they moved in perfect time
To watch their perfect crimes
was like watching rivers eternally

He watched from hills afar
their spilt blood their caviar
and he longed for their fraternity
Though poets lauded him
for drumming his own tin
he tired of being solitary

So alone he trained by night
forging skill and forming might
manifesting his artistry physically
He danced his fists through the air
sweat fueling the anger that flared
as physicality erupted violently

His training was private and hidden
until he was ready to enlist unbidden
Months later he marched to them confidently
told them "I want to be one of your numbers"
But he was known best for long slumbers
and they laughed at him derisively

They laughed hard and laughed long
while he waited patiently for their calm
then issued his challenge insightfully
"If three of you will gather round
and with all your efforts bring me down
you can exclude me forever decisively

"But if I can beat all three
you'd be wiser to welcome me"
They accepted his offer hesitantly
His was no easy task
they wanted to kick his ass
and they worked at full intensity

But when the rubble was cleared
he stood alone with their blood smeared
across his chest symbolically
The other three lay dead
their drums pounding in his head
drowning the morning's serenity

Because he had killed their brothers
they had to welcome this other
who had proven himself maniacally
But looking at what he'd done
he knew he could never be one
of these men who'd forgive his heresy

He returned to his solitary hills
with all the blood ever spilled
on his conscience eternally
They went back to their march
their murderous art
equal to his living externally

Labels: Poetry