An Idle Drum

A silence that rings in still air
an apprehension, a foreboding,
an emanation of pre-noise,
somehow I am aware of it.
A sound that is yet to be
resonating inaudibly
through my subconscious.
And so I am bidden
to rise and to move
to find the source,
it becomes more urgent
a rhythm now, a beating
a persistent driving force
and I match its time as I approach.
It calls to me, invites me to participate
to become one with a music that
has not yet been played
before it is too late
and inspiration dissipates
I sit
I breathe
The drums play me.