My Drummer

New poem, based of the time while I was reading "The Night Thoreau spent in Jail"

A rhythm is called out
The conformity stepping in time
Left foot, right foot
I can't hear their drummer
Only my own
The beat is wild and keeps changing as I walk
I see beyond where they march
A large and open space, untamed by man
Thank you Thoreau for showing your teaching
Though you are wrong
Education is not the end of like but the beggining

Reviews

[Rylan Batten]

nice somewhat anti-transcendentalist poetry, though it does take me back to the days of English Lit...ugh...either way, well written, I liked it