(God’s Sonnet by Timothy J. Verret; “it’s how I cope to hope in playing as loud as possible my red tin drum to blot out all things NOT of God”)
You carry your red tin drum on death’s hike.
You beat on it all day and all night long.
Your fingers bleed to the tunes of 4th Reich:
The red world is beating on you headstrong.
When I beat on my red tin drum, silence.
My racing thoughts drown out the “boom, bang, crash!”
Why don’t I play the flute? Stop this violence?
I can’t part with my drum: Red, tin, and brash.
“I heard sounds from Heaven, a red tin drum
being beat on, rushing waters, thunder.”
Then we heard God’s Voice, “My Son overcome,
My Son now comes, you all must be under.”
Did I “play” this sonnet? Or is it dumb?
Drumroll for Jesus on our red tin drum.