Tension Bolts
Synchronized steps walked cautiously,
Wandered in the conductor's lair.
Where once was echoing laughter,
Now sits a soft-pedal chair.
Roaring and thunderous barrage,
Wry language that he called his own.
Brings a foundational pulse,
A groove he’s always shown.
Collectively, experienced-
The roaring of his defeat.
A community of healing-
Our drum circle- yields to the beat.
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