Mother's Heartbeat- Free Style Muse Generator Poetry

Mother's Heartbeat

12 - October - 2002

In the forest of Providence the drums creep
throbbing with rhythms soaked in dreams
the smooth moss caresses the tune
carries it to the surrounding hills
on wings of the spring wind.
The message carries forth, to the skies
and to the vale. It trips softly down
the leaf strewn hills, and rides along
the jumping streamlet. Sounds collided and build,
gurgling brook, mourning lark, a rustle in the brush,
and the heavy beat, of the old revered drums
the pulse of the forest.
Gentle heads turn, doe and babe, in a glade
outside the din. The sound charges in,
but startles not, and light returns to
the velvet green floor.
I wonder in the forest of Providence
convinced I have lost my way, and the drumbeat
serves only to remind me
of what I carelessly left behind
to be ravaged by the urban wolves,
who fear the moon and sister stars
who dare not tread on the bare earth,
for fear to feel the life flow into them,
that might make their hearts beat again.
Beat in the rhythm of the old, lost drums.