Will you mind, God
If I slam the door
On the life before
Will your ears think me discourteous
Given the paths you let me trod?
I’ve such grasping hands
Wrapped ’round the doorknob
Brass-cold but so familiar
I must let it patina, I know
And find my way to other lands
There’s neither pressure
Nor something to prove
What purpose the drum
Why the brass, you ask
The warmth ‘neath your hand
Keeping most perfect time
The cool clarity
Holds your crystalline mind
The team of the two
If they will become friends
A life-force
That will deliver you
LisaRosier.com 