The slow, methodical, rhythm of that rawhide drum began to rise, with praise of life and death that dwelled the earth beneath those blinded, darkened, cold and unforgiving skies. The timbre took my soul into a state, into a place, into a sacred way, where demons smiled and changed their faces, which left me standing on the threshold of the damned that day. A tragedy lay down upon the floor, as gifted with a simple blessing all her tender years, yet as her family prayed and sang her way to heaven, and placed her feet upon that holy road, her mother couldn’t hold the tears

No matter that misfortune came and stole that young emboldened life, a truly helpful hand was sent for kindness and a saddened smile sustained, so raise my heart to thwart that bitter taste of vile and hardened life, that very soon that I could taste that nectar of the dew from sacred meadows where dwells almighty God.  ©2015 FMB


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