My Scripts

chiseled on old caves
carved on ancient stone
inked on aged parchment
my sacred scripts
are waiting to run the show

but the stolen scripts
from this lifetime,
from stories and wounds
somehow are 
overriding, hiding the 
potent prophecies below

so I look up at Gaia
and plead her to 
proofread my scripts
and annotate
the ones that 
she wrote and hid.

she smiles and says,
‘my beautiful and dearest drum’

the prophecies
will be heard 
not in some script
in your mind 
that you memorize and spit

but in every moment
that you keep taut your hide
and tune into my taps 
on your drumhead,
the prophecies 
us together will write
and loudly whisper 
for ready ears 
in beats emanating 
from our musical dance.

Photo by Kerensa Pickett on Unsplash