With Irregular Thumps

The poem speaks for itself

With Irregular Thumps


The fingers tap an incessant beat,
Upon the dull wood - irregular thumps,
The crescendo is built, and never completed,
Note after note and - discordance,

The water precipitates from the sky,
In glorious liquefaction it flows,
It's destination on the roll of a die,
Only the thirsty dead have their woes.

The eagle is tied with chains,
Twisting in vain - irregular thumps,
Starved of its prey, never satisfied,
Screech after screech and - discordance.

Trickling so slow life progresses,
In pitiful liquidity it goes on eternal,
Yet to hide in the Cave's recesses,
Is worse than a life most total.

The mind plays games of its own,
Red-organ spasms - irregular thumps,
It's destination fated and unknown,
Thought after thought and - discordance.