I wrote two poems one night when working at the Sam’s Club membership desk. That would put this in the 1995-1997 time frame for origin.
Unfortunately, I can’t remember what made me think to write either one. For this one, I imagine I could probably hear some drums (the radios were right in front of the desk on display) or other loud noises in the club to inspire me.
They both had a little medieval tint, since I am interested in that time period. Keep in mind that war parties often marched to drums.
They come from afar with impending doom;
I cower in honest pale fear.
The feel of enclosing, descending rage
Hunting, nay, stalking so near.
Causing weakness of knees, myopic sight,
Teeth chattering unholy rhymes.
Tympanums can’t stand its sadistic beat
Playing in devilish time.
One boom for death, a crash-bang for dismay,
Horrid premonitions of fate.
Deep bass for gloom, snare-rap for distress
All kept at an inhuman gait.
They reverberate bones, send shockwaves through blood,
Rhythmic portentions of dread
Crush in on your soul, smother desperate hope
Send voices to throb in your head.
Beware of the drums my disheveled friend;
Linger not in harmony’s path.
Do not suffer yourself purposely bear
The musical essence of wrath.