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 Matthew Swanson's 

Silent Drum

The drummers have gone

Fallen leaves, bells and feathers

All that are left in this parched clearing.

Only yesterday the
actors ended their play,

Only yesterday. The audience clapped and cheered,

The words of the  songs they sang

Now no longer remembered.

Shadowy images alone remain.

Maybe the small trees remember,

I'll pick up my cape and mend it.

I'll play my own drum softly,

In this wide, abandoned space

And learn the language of softness from the wind.
Life continues.


A POEM by Matthew Swanson
Visual storytelling by David Boyle, John Paul Retreats, Storyboards

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