Bed of Many Signatures

A throne behind five thunders

Hanging, screaming domes of gold

Commanding stomps and wooden sticks

Demanding wits and hands to muffle

Flesh like men, so granted tones

Wood of trees all cylinder craft

The biting left to the singing right

Whispers felt from sole to chest

Deafened heart that's blinding quick

Building force behind his casings

Lips to utter and hands to scry

A rhythm skewed but not forgotten

The carrier kit, the sunset stack

The vehicle to the brazen truth

So frank and short in its departure

Enlightening in its pursuit.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I sure do love my drum set.

View sivus's Full Portfolio