"amplifier" poems
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, doggy style
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya ***** in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes
Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary
I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight
Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin
Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes
I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
Skinny *** Poem
(8/11/2014)
Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
They picture perfect future families with puppies and kittens,
but for me something was missing.
I just wanted to be happy.
Maybe my vision wasn't so great though,
because 'happy' looked like it had 6 letters to me, and spelled 'skinny.'
People used to throw bricks at my glass house.
Shouting that I’d be skinny enough to slip through cracks.
Cracks of life,
cracks of struggle and strife,
cracks of everything not nice.
They'd tease me and say I looked like I smoked crack,
when I'd lose weight,
I'd gain it all back,
in the form of their extra hate.
But I didn't feel skinny on the inside.
Although I had skinny bones and skinny skin,
brittle enough to break within.
Under the pain of that pang
as their bricks shattered my glass house.
Tell me, have you ever been afraid of words?
Thoughts can be terrifying but once turned to spoken word,
that in turn will turn to shouted word,
that in turn will turn to incoherent nonsense.
Which starts a sensation of ear drums ripping,
being sawed in half immediately,
no time spent ticking,
by shrill shrieks and violent vocalizations.
As if a sound wave could burst your body parts faster,
no, more efficiently than a barrage of fists.
Because it will know exactly where to strike,
in fact, it will sneak through your solid surface,
into every single crevice,
knowing where the best place to hurt is.
All it takes is a whisper strategically said in your ear,
'skinny.' 'skinny.' 'skinny.'
I could feel it float away from me,
carried off by the wind.
As if a sound wave could carry an army of statements,
piled up and armed with bayonets of every decibel level,
ready and willing to siege each individual joint crack and muscle ache,
being pushed under imposed stiffness.
It will ooze out your pores, as if your fat face was an instrument amplifier.
They thrived on the thrill listening to my shrill shriek.
As I stepped on shards from my shattered glass house,
And stared into the million fractures,
each a broken reflection of the million me’s I could be.
But none of them skinny... enough,
skinny for everybody else,
but never for me.
I’d envision each day, blood drops staining my glass carpet.
Each ounce of that luscious red,
each day left my body filled with an ounce less of dread.
An ounce less to fit into a size small shirt,
and 30 inch waist Skinny jean.
My body became my own private ****** machine.
Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
I just wanted to be happy, I mean skinny.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Midnight rain on the window
Memories of you
My strings sing a melody
My heart sings it too
The amplifier hums
As I pluck each new note
Wishing for what was
Thinking over what you wrote
So I sing a midnight melody
Play a song that reminds me of you
And my heartache sings the harmony
'Cause you don't know the damage you do
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
Pintuan palang malalaman mo na,
Na ito ang bahay ng mahirap na pamilya,
May nakasulat pa sa itaas na "Welcome to Miano Family" at " God bless our home".
Mga katagang matagal ng iniukit ng panahon,
Pag pasok mo ay sasalubong agad sayo,
Ang mga mga kagamitan na bigay,
Mga gamit na pinagsawaan na ng kapit bahay,
Mga Tv, relos, at orasan na di na umaandar,
Sa iyong unang hakbang iyong maaapakan,
Ang mga lumang tarpaulin na ginawang floormat,
Upang takpan ang madumi at maputik na sahig,
Lingon ka sa kanan,
At makikita mo ang gawa kong hagdanan,
Hagdan na mayroon lang tatlong apakan,
Ngunit di kelangan mabahala,
Pagkat gawa ko iyan, kaya dapat magtiwala,
Sa iyong pag akyat makikita agad,
Ang kahon na sa laki ay sagad,
Sariling gawang kahon para sa speaker at amplifier,
Di sapag mamayabang pero kalahating araw ko lang tinapos iyan,
Partida nga at wala pang kompletong kagamitan,
Mapapansin **** ganun din ang set up sa taas,
May mga tarpaulin nanaman paloob at palabas,
May mga pira pirasong damit na tinahi para magsilbing kurtina at pantakip,
Pantakip mula sa mga butas na ding ding,
Pag lipat sa kabilang kwarto at makikita mo,
Ang sahig na gawa nanaman sa kawayan,
Na ginawa upang maging daanan ng hangin sa mainit na panahon,
Walang masyadong kagamitan,
Pero masasabi mo talagang magulo,
Magulo at parang wala nang paglalagyan,
Ng mga damit at mga unan na pa kalat kalat,
Konting pagmamasid pa at iyong mapapansin,
Ang basag naming salamin,
Mga LED lights na di nagagamit pag sapit nh dilim,
Mga wires na napakagulo at gutay gutay,
Batterya ng motor na gamit ng ilaw pag gabi,
Pag napagod kana sa taas,
Bumaba ka ulit at makikita mo sa gilid ng hagdan,
Ang Mga gawa sa kahoy na upuan,
Tingin saglit sa taas at masdan,
Pinag tagpi tagping yero na bubungan,
Mga bubong na maaliwalas kapag tag.araw,
Pag tag ulan naman ay nagmumukhang talon sa buhos ng tubig,
Sa kusina naman tayo ay magpunta,
Bubungad agad ang mga basag na baso,
At mga plato't kutsarang di kumpleto,
Naubos narin cguro ng tatay kong lasinggero,
Sa hugasan makikita mo naman,
Ang gawa sa kahoy na hugasan,
Mg lalagyan ng plato at basong may sabitan,
Isang hakbang pa at welcome to our lutuan,
Lutuan na gaw asa lupa nq ipinatong sa yero kahoy at kawayan,
Mga maiitim na na kawa at kaldero na laman,
At syempre mga kahoy rin na panggatong na nakalagay naman s abandang ilalim ng lutuan,
Tuwing kakain kailangan mag kanya²,
Pagkat pag nag sabay ay tiyak na di kasya,
Pagkat plato't kutsara'y kulang na,
Pero ganun paman kami ay masaya.
Simpleng bahay, simpleng buhay, simpleng pamumuhay 😊
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 2:25 AM UTC
You're are the love of my life
The lyrics to the happiness of my life
The fertiliser to my joy
Paradoxically the more I look at you the more beautiful you become
I'm a mic You're my amplifier
You're the love of my life
The destiny to my journey
I will never leave you
So that I can have children like you
Because beautiful is the reflection of who you are
I look at your heart its written fragile
So I will always handle you with care
You're are the love of my life
The antidote to my anger
You are my other half
Without you am incomplete
Your warm hugs feels like heaven on earth
Forever you are mine so am I
You're the love of my life
My jersey in winter
Words cannot completely describe my love for you
But always remember that I can die for you
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
a lick to the ******* up my *** glowin' a white
boy on Jim Beam and nitro screams hell yes! without
the benefit of an amplifier ebony and ivory together
brings the old south to her knees
she begs tell me 'fore you **** I say yes then oops
sorry black betty
take a grain of salt with that
for twenty bucks
on the Choctawahatchee banks so way below
the yellow rivers
Mason / Dixon look out jealous
with crosses burning ten miles further south
we are in limited territory, look out
for the man,
and swallow.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Cheers to sharing bottles of wine,
fifths of whiskey, and beers by the stein
To plugging yourself into that amplifier
and playing your song with the volume higher
Others join, you're a band pumping great sound
we'll have what we're having, 'nother round!
Honest fellowship is here
Spirits rise with bubbles in the beer
Cares are gone as soon as you begin
to feel the warmth start from within
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
******
Animal
Savage
Dead man walking, right?
You going to fuckin' score ******
You going to fuckin' score?
You're ******* right I am
I'm gonna hit the lights and let my veins glow electric
I'm gonna turn my blood black and spray it all over the walls
I'm gonna sleep tonight in the abyss, baby
******
Are you hearing me are you feeling me am I getting through to you do I ******* stutter?
Are you ready to get out of my way or die ************
I'm going to tear the ******* roof off this place I'm gonna skin you all alive
Till it's just me and the messiah complex dealer with the keys to the holy city
If this is a standoff then let's have at it if you wanna play cowboy I'll show you cowboy
If we were made in any image at all it'd have to be the rats, right?
Well I'm the big bad wolf now and I'm done ******* around
******
Deadbeat
Family man
Feel cool with that gun in your hand?
Feel cool with that hole in your neck?
You're ******* right I do
I'm going out in style tonight
I'm going to find the rawest nerve and plug it into an amplifier
I wanna hear God cry
******
Is this happening are you seeing this are you ******* kidding me?
Is there anybody even on the receiving end?
Is this a sick ******* joke I'm choking on ***** and hate and I have enough rage to bury everything
I don't want to rest until I watch everything suffer
Am I sick? Am I losing it have I lost it already?
What do I have left to lose?
What manner of beast is this now?
******
Wretch
Vermin
Is that it, huh?
Is that all there is?
Don't ******* patronize me
That's gonna be it, alright
I'm gonna finish it the way it began
Dim lit basement, flood of chemical angels
Beauty in the most high
And death will show me sympathy
Because junkies die alone
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Secrets are my amplifier.
They burn in my heart like a forest fire.
I am made of those closeted items
they live in me like I'm their phylum.
For only I can keep such dark whispers
hid inside with painful shivers.
Speaking as the queen of hiding
I can assure that it is only time you are biding.
If you believe you can keep silent
think again, because the thoughts get violent.
Secret keeping is not for the faint of heart
it is, in fact, a sacred art.
(d.d.b)
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
My grandfather peels an
X-chromosome off his liquor bottle
skips it across the pool of my mother’s genes
until it reaches me
yellow cigarette stained walls
green ashtray carpet on his tongue
blue back room full of old guitars
black mechanic oil stained hands
sandpaper voice
watching Jaws 4
homeless woman on couch
feeds dog black coffee
brown belly dragging across tongue
Thanksgiving dinners
my brother plays “Purple Haze”
out of a reluctant amplifier
the old folks applaud
the colors are beginning to
fade
he
battling cancer his way
watching Jaws 4
dog now dead
homeless woman now
no longer homeless
back skin where left ear
used to be
old guitars pawned for
drugs
Purple Haze fades to
black as colors do
and they say
it skips a generation
and now when shades
of pink appear white
my tongue grows thick
smoke burns my nostrils
and
I can only think of
how terrible of a film
Jaws 4 is.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC
I've always sensed the scent
coming from down under.
It's the green goo creeping under the door
from my animated adolescent nightmares.
And I'm back to my adolescent ways these days,
yelling in a whisper at my face in the mirror.
Yelling at a the beloved shadow that goes unnoticed.
And if I'm covering up my lies with feelings,
and I'm covering up my organs with skin,
then why am I not covering up my skin?
And I'm covering up my life in a blanket with far too many holes.
but it is still able to protect the boney parts of my body
where my skin is too thin.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
A synth is all wires, metal and acrylic.
Alone it sits upon a keyboard stand motionless.
It is plugged into a valve amplifier, all valves and solder and metal.
The synth is motionless.
And the world it lives in is silent.
The electricity dwells through the wires in the gyprock walls,
through the voltage and the conduction.
Two hundred and forty volts to be exact.
Yet it is contained within the walls. Dark and unfamiliar.
And the world it lives in is empty.
A switch is switched. The electricity is conducted.
In the blink of an eye it powers the synth and the amplifier.
The synth springs to life.
A melody filled with intervals,
ascension and harmony blasts through the amplifier,
with clarity, distorted grit and frequency.
A beautiful sound fills the air.
The synth and the electricity together at last.
And the world that the two live in together is beautiful.
JAW 29/01/11
For Marie.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
Capacitor plate ల మద్య insulation లా నీ feelings దాచేసావే.
Diode forward bias లా నీ మనసు చప్పట్లు pass చెయ్యవే .
Zener reverse bias లా నా voltage stabilise చేసేయ్యవే .
Transistor regions లాగా ముచ్చు మూడైనా stages లో ఉన్నావే .
Cut చేసే వీలుమ్డే cut-off నుండి బయటకిరావే.
మితిమీరే అవకాశం ఉండే saturation నుండి తప్పుకుపోవే .
Universal Acceptance లా active stage కి చేరిపోవే .
Amplifier లాగా నీ ప్రేమను సైతం double triple అవ్వాలే .
ఎ input లేని స్పందించే oscillator నా heart అది chese beat ఏలే .
Infinite oscillations తో నీవెనకే నేను నాతొ నా ప్రేమ .
నన్ను control చేసే feedback loop ఎ నువ్వు .
నువ్వు చెప్పింది చేసే circuit నేను .
Transistor లా Switch అల్లే మన ఇరువురి ప్రేమని connect చేసేసే .
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
On a flybuzz afternoon in late June, the unshaven man in corduroy everything ashes into a shoe beside the bed. He takes another drag. He half hums, half sings "Fight this Generation." Outside he hears a car alarm. He looks through the blinds. Not his. An unopened letter rests on the night stand. He looks at it and then doesn't. His phone rings for the ninth or tenth time. He picks it up and throws it at the wall. Pieces with names like RF amplifier, microprocessor, and flash memory chip divide and shower onto the hardwood floor.
An hour and half a pack of cigarettes pass. She fiddles with her key in the door. A few failed turns then she walks into the living room, into the bedroom.
She looks at the broken phone.
"At least I told you," she says.
"I didn't read it."
"I don't care. I already told you. That was just to soften the blow, a nice thing."
"Look for the splinters. You might see where they come out."
"We already talked about this. You said you wanted to stay together. You know and I know this wasn't completely my fault."
"Yeah."
"Yeah? Yeah. Absolutely. You've got to take care of yourself. I said nice things in the letter."
"I'm not going to read the letter."
She opens the window by the bed to vent the smoke. There's another siren in the distance. Someone protected, someone hunted.
"Your life is selected," he says.
"So select yours, too."
He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the matted mess out of his eyes.
"For you to have the life you want, I give up the one I want."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. We've already talked about this. We've already had this fight."
"I want to have it again."
"Why?"
"I just need to."
"You're saying the same things."
"Maybe in a general sense, but I feel like I'm saying them better."
"I'm not going to listen to you refine your arguments for the rest of my life. We already got past this."
"Already is a strange word."
She turns her back to him and heads into the living room. "Everything is strange when you think too much, when you refine," she says through the wall.
"It's something that happened before or something that came too soon yet sounds like something inclusive, all ready to fight, to die. It's strange."
"You're not ready," she says. "I'm going to stay at Amy's again tonight."
She doesn't slam the front door. She eases it closed, locks it, and leaves.
"All ready," he says to himself. "All ready."
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
The cold is my commander, it taunts me, while it steals my sheaths of warmer cleaving skin sections exposed by its notions and collected conscious. The sounds are complicated, the moons azurean hue resembles the coldness of my cigarette's embers blue, and then the commander shucks my final breath away. It isn't something that I barely feel, but rather something that lightly see. It's hoarfrost births its fickle shell of hardrime on the last of those interstices I once called my fingers. And from this choke, this frozen voice is detained by the vox ice amplifier that steals each noise. Besides, in an interruption I hear our whorish neighbors score of shouting scripted shouts, and screaming scripted screams. Each day she becomes less and less like any real human being. It's hard to believe that behind these walls that shield me from the albicant and atrocious heraldry winter casts me through, these sounds are concentric like limited Earth words written in the prompts that some ill and wanton succubus would. If only to lure herself from the pains she gained while lying to those amidst her closest ties. I am further distressed, though fully dressed narrowly watching bits of frozen water interlace themselves beneath freezing in the corners of my mind. When until the shaking and commandeering of my mortal sounds, disperse amidst the ferocity that Spring white snow absconds. The tremulent vocal chords are hailed by a hard-rimed **** who ensuingly rips the cantering spirit from each last place it stood. Only those who know this wind could speak about the way it genuflects and obsesses on these rules. This freezing genuflection hails to every servant of its rein, I can barely exhale the inspiration that rises from the head, until any skin exposed to air is reclaimed by my commander for good. Then each neighbor's head may lilt upon the piste, and pray for something more balmy than negative eleven degrees.
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC
Feel the amplifier
Pulsating a passion
that pushes and pursues
Values
Jubilantly jumping
In and out of musical Eroticy
Sensuality
Music brings forth the life
Inside
A mind
Trapped and lost
A maze
A daze
These days
It's my only escape
The wailing weeping and sweeping
Down the fret board of a fender
That centers me in Ecstasy
The pulsing pounding petering
From the bass drum
Teetering
And then some
Crash goes the cymbal
I let out a scream
A resonating symbol
That brings forth my dream
Arrogance
Pestilence
Enemy of silence
My musical Resonance
Stills the brewing violence
Listen...
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 4:14 PM UTC
seemed like a live concert in my trailer park
"Hey Jude" rattled every thin window here.
Blue lights flickered, as all my neighbors called 911,
I was overpowered with emotion,
No one could hide as I next played, on my Christmas present
( 10000 watt amplifier made by JVC)
"Let it Be" and heard na na na and sacred chords loud
through Bose's best.
I almost heard the cop when he yelled, but did not hear any thing, after he tasered me, except for all my neighbors cheering keeping time with sirens and Na na na.
I heard in handcuffs and spasms, "My Guitar gently weeping"
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
I know when I've reached my speaking cap,
because you pull faces, sometimes shush me,
complain that I over-explain.
I tell you about how little I speak to everyone else,
in hopes that you'd cherish the words I share
with you alone, but it's futile.
So I silence myself in efforts to quell your disdain,
and refrain from speaking again.
"That's too dramatic," you say.
"It's one extreme to another, learn balance," you say.
My speech is policed, but you "only teach."
Brevity is the soul, you say.
Training me to avoid embarrassment,
obtain eloquence,
I should be thankful
that you, who know not to express your feelings
without another's pre-existence,
are patient enough with my chatter
to suggest that I truncate and omit better.
Reduce the noise and volume on this amplifier.
If I were a **** you'd fine tune me
until you heard nothing at all.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 8:25 AM UTC
A boy frolics in a field of forget-me-nots
to the song in his heart.
Spinning, spinning, spinning…
until he falls in love with the music.
Rolling down hills to rolling up joints
and picking up a guitar.
The music crescendos…
His life has just begun.
The guitar is played daily.
Sitting on the front stoop,
amplifier plugged in—
a concert for the block.
Time continues to tick.
Life is getting hard.
The guitar is forsaken
just when he needs it most.
Making music no longer,
he turns to substance.
Spinning, spinning, spinning
out of control.
He needs the pain
to go away.
Needles at night
and sleep by day.
The man is tired
and lonely
as the endless darkness
inside him.
When the veil between worlds is thinnest
the man slips away
and finally
he finds his peace.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 10:40 PM UTC
unspared during my travels
prepared by an exchanging world
of appearances
i came to this place
at the base of
a hill of course fell
a whipped traveller i am
by the vital Spring weather
i am met
welcomed a night of shelter
led the way by a lace of monks
discreetly
i am put up
residence
bowed into an alcove
and left be
sun settles gloaming
bleeding out into the night
the night moves on
steeping
it plays on my solitude
a temple of awakening
freed from need of sleep
plush in the gloom
of this unfamiliar lodge
pulses lune from the lamp
calling me to something family
suckle
peculiar flares of incense
my heart at pace
gusted by the lungs
gushed with a nourishing charge
of remedy
i stand lightly
i take a stroll
timid
subtle bells
quake little tings
under a propelled circulation
engine utters
quivering the air
Sudden :
it buckles
yawn out from under a gallows
the spaces between the temple walls
drop away
fathomless theatre opens maw
barriers have dissipated
crumple
i am a mite short of distress
held
in keeping shallow
maintaining a sensible program
i give out breath hesitant...
and gratefully retrieve
i stand weakly
with care
this is temple
me, a guest
my travellers bed roll remains stowed :
i am a fool to be swallowed
a courtyard
compounds this pressed element of nature
i reached its edge
this building acts the amplifier
a spiritual device of development
bade by hemorrhaging darkness
i wade beyond any lamplight
each step taken when the tide pulls it
mottled perfumes now exhaust in punches
(powering from the baying boundaries)
look up
a royalty floods across the night sky
cropped by the yard rooves
chants and bells eddy about my ears
pants and tones mediate
worship hounds the clock
i finally do what is best
follow myself back the way
i make up my bed
(retire or
as a shade
i'll find my way between the walls
and flourish)
chuckle
i regain valued humor
i concentrate
close eyes and slow my heart once again
make peace in this temple of strobe
tomorrow i'll face agricultural land
and the sunlight
i'll continue my selfish travels
bedroll bound to my pack
my pack tight to my back
i shall weep and honour the departed
as i continue
this little i have learned
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 7:11 PM UTC
God brings us in the world as a new body
Our spirit may be old
But his terrain is new
Flesh is just the souls jacket
The mind its amplifier
Vocal chords its speaker
Heart its energy
Our soul is a traveler
It may travel for years even centuries
Never to be understood
Until it finds the right mindset
To trust and call its own.
If you truly understand
You will see many roads
If you barely understand
They will all be closed.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
*I'm in a small living room with beige , sheet rocked
walls and wood floors , contemporary artwork and a Vox
amplifier
A MacBook Air for keeping my diary , a ceiling fan forming
a tune with a busy wall clock
Dust is collecting on white painted baseboards , occasionally
tumbling across the floor
A front door secured twice plus two windows with venetian
blinds , trinkets on shelves , the faint odor of pine , paper flowers ,
fragments of glass glued into containers
Peripheral shadows are moving to and fro , images are stair stepping
before me , heart racing , hands cannot find their home , memory
racing mach one , telephone is nothing but noise , windows are for
guarding against potential predators , flipping in synchronized repetition from Facebook to Outlook , from Hello Poetry to Musicians Friend
Flying with one eye closed and hoping to eventually land* ...
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
Have you ever watched a candle burn?
Flicker, fade, wasting away
The wicker waxes and wanes in pain
All consuming and never full
Unsatisfied with life so dull
It grows and builds and strikes and screams
It roars and eats and tears at your seams
You want to let it out but it never quite seems
Like you can.
We live in a world today
Where people's candles melt away
They drip and drop and slowly fall
A silent plop, heard by all
But acknowledged by none
For they have their own flames to deal with.
I was reading the news the other day
And, apparently, there's this new invention
A mental confection
At some grad school somewhere
That's still in the works
From minds of the same inflection
That uses sound waves to
Extinguish
Fire.
Prototypes,
The device and young minds alike.
Relatively unheard of, at the time,
But they may one day save countless lives.
An interesting thought, that sound overcomes
That an amplifier may dampen
Sound inside our hearts
The burning flame that rips apart.
But fire consumes the air itself
And what sound do you make when you cannot breathe?
You open your mouth and you can only seethe
The fire consumes and grows in height
And try as you can with all your might
To make a sound, some drowning noise
The fire devours, ignores and toys
With you.
Our lives are filled with sound.
Why is it then that all around
People fall and fires fade
And candles wax and slowly wane
We burn alive from inside out?
Can this be stopped with just a shout?
A cry for help, a strangled plea
"Please, just listen to me!"
But our lives are filled with sound;
Fires burning, melting down-
Until we learn to hear the truth
Ignore the flames and blow the roof
Off our little hearth, and open wide
Expand our limits, let the flame inside
Perish away and finally breathe
Free from the fires that forced us to seethe-
A prototype, that's all it is.
Relatively unheard of.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC