To the Beat of the Drums to the Night

I want to know the old men and women,
walking by the fire,
not waiting, basking, meditating,
Moving.
To the beat of the drums to the night.

Cover sheet, fax, phone, text, Twitter, Facebook,
Gmail, Hotmail, Msn, Cable, Comcast, fear,
loathing all that tripe. The modern, the current lack
of wild singing, beating, acting.

Referrals, sales, meetings, customers, reviews,
Federal Reserve, change, cash, balances, Excel,
figures, estimates, contractors, madness and wildness.
A mixing ratio of paper, ink, and digital communication.
LCD imaging mixing estranged images far from all of us,
photos of beyond, celestial stars pilled upon heaven,
crawling out .

Here, we're here by that which spread the heavens,
and bore our atoms from the furnace of the sun.
It, that allowed us
to make faxes, calls, Blackberries, emails,
all those many things indeed. All those many things indeed.
Now, here, in the winter, now no sun rising, no sun coming.
I am left with only modern mania.

I want to know the old men and women,
walking by the fire,
not waiting, basking, meditating,
acting true.
To the beat of the drums to the night.