Muse

Muse

He drums to a beat in his head
On a drum that makes no sound
But still his hands move to the tune.
The noise in the room crowds the air around him
No expression fills his face
Alone in a room full of people
He looks it. Lonely.
Still he taps out rhythms
Whole orchestras in his mind.

Who am I to say he's lonely?
I called the music noise.
He looks uninterested, but interesting.
I look bored, and boring.
This does not surprise me.
His drumming attracts me like a tribal beat
Even in silence.
Does my pen attract him
Even though my words are a mystery?

I'm writing about you,
Silent Drummer across the aisle.
Are you writing that song for me,
The Writer?