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Nikhil Khandekar Sep 2015
Dry winds of monsoon rainless
Caress my little hair idly
Fire crackers acrid painless
Waft up quite widely

The elements treat me fine
Yes, they are all democratic
Often verging on divine
Tho’ folks call em lunatic

Bother not, friends
Folks are easily dumb
That’s how it ends -
Tom, **** and a thumb

Tho’ nothing might augur well
Keep being until groundswell
Molecules of two elements, nitrogen and oxygen, comprise about 99 percent of the air. The remaining hoity toity 1% includes small amounts celestial seasoning luxurious riches as argon and carbon dioxide. (Other gases such as neon, helium, and methane are present in trace amounts.) Oxygen is the life-giving element in the air.

Earth's atmosphere is 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon, and 0.03% carbon dioxide with very small percentages of other elements. Our atmosphere also contains water vapor. In addition, Earth's atmosphere contains traces of dust particles, pollen, plant grains and other solid particles.

Even when the air seems to be completely clear, it is full of atmospheric particles - invisible solid and semisolid bits of matter, including dust, smoke, pollen, spores, bacteria and viruses. Some atmospheric particles are so large that you will feel them if they strike you. However, particles this large rarely travel far before they fall to the ground. Finer particles may be carried many miles before settling during a lull in the wind, while still tinier specks may remain suspended in the air indefinitely. The finest particles are jostled this way and that by moving air molecules and drift with the slightest currents. Only rain and snow can wash them out of the atmosphere. These tiny particles are so small that scientists measure their dimensions in microns - a micron is about one 25-thousandth of an inch. They include pollen grains, whose diameters are sometimes less than 25 microns; bacteria, which range from about 2 to 30 microns across; individual virus particles, measuring a very small fraction of a micron; and carbon smoke particles, which may be as tiny as two hundredths of a micron.

Particles are frequently found in concentrations of more than a million per cubic inch of air. A human being's daily intake of air is about 450,000 cubic inches. This means that we inhale an astronomical numbers of foreign bodies. Particles larger than about 5 microns are generally filtered from the air in the nasal passages. Other large particles are caught by hairlike protuberances in the air passages leading to the lungs and are swept back toward the mouth. Most of the extremely fine particles that do reach the lungs are exhaled again - although some of this matter is deposited in the minute air sacs within the lungs. From these air sacs, particles may go into solution and pass through the lung walls into the bloodstream. If the material is toxic, harmful reactions may occur when it enters the blood. Fine particles retained in the lungs can cause permanent tissue damage, as with Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (black lung disease), caused by buildup of coal dust in the lungs, and with silicosis, which is caused by the buildup of silicon dust.

If the air is still, given sufficient time, all but the smallest airborne particles will settle to the ground under their own weight. Their rate of fall is closely proportional to particle size and density.
For example, vast amounts of fine volcanic ash were thrown into the air by the eruption of the Indonesian volcano Krakatoa, in 1883, and again by the Alaskan volcano Katmai, in 1912. In both instances, the finer dust reached the stratosphere and spread around the world high above the rains and storms that tend to cleanse the lower atmosphere. In fact, many years elapsed before these volcanic dusts entirely disappeared from the atmosphere. Since a two-micron dust particle may require about four years to fall 17 miles in the atmosphere, the lingering effect is not in the least surprising.
Dust storms are also prolific producers of airborne debris. Europe is sometimes showered with dust originating in the Sahara. In March 1901, for instance, an estimated total of two million tons of Sahara dust fell on North Africa and the Europe. Two years later, in February 1903, Britain received a deposit estimated at ten million tons. On many occasions, Sahara dust has fallen in muddy rain and reddish snow over much of southwestern Europe. During North America's droughts of the 1930s, dust storms blew ten million tons of dust at a time aloft in the heart of the continent. Occasionally, high winds swept the dust eastward 1800 miles to darken skies along the continent's Atlantic coast.

When the wind strikes the crest of an ocean wave, or a calm sea is agitated by rain or by air bubbles bursting at the surface, the finer droplets that enter the air quickly evaporate, leaving tiny salt crystals suspended in the air. Winds carry these salt crystals over all the Earth. Normally, airborne salt particles from the sea are less than a micron in diameter. It would take a million of them to weigh a pound.
Salt particles play an important part in weather processes because they are hygroscopic - they absorb water. Raindrops usually form around tiny particles that act as nuclei for condensation. Generally, each fog and cloud droplet also collects around a particle of some type at its center. Tiny crystals of sea salt make better condensation nuclei than other natural particles found in the air. Thus, salt particles in the air help make rain.

Dust from meteor showers may occasionally affect world rainfall. When the Earth encounters a swarm of meteors, those meteors that get to the upper reaches of the Earth's atmosphere are vaporized by heat from friction. The resulting debris is a fine smoke or powder. This fine dust then floats down into the cloud system of the lower atmosphere, where it can readily serve as nuclei around which ice crystals or raindrops can form. Increases in world rainfall come about a month after the Earth encounters meteor systems in space. The delay of a month allows sufficient time for the meteoric dust to fall through the upper atmosphere. Occasionally, large meteors leave visible trains of dust. Most often their trails disappear rapidly, but in a few witnessed cases a wake of dust has remained visible for an hour or so.
In one extreme instance-a great meteor that broke up in the sky over Siberia in 1908-the dust cloud traveled all the way around the world before it dissipated.

Large forest fires are among the more spectacular producers of foreign particles in the atmosphere.
Because these fires create violent updrafts, smoke particles are carried to great heights, and, being small, are spread over vast distances by high altitude winds. In the autumn of 1950, forest fires in Alberta, Canada produced smoke that drifted east over North America on the prevailing wind and crossed the North Atlantic, reaching Britain and continental Europe. The light-scattering properties of this dense smoke made the Sun look indigo and the Moon blue to observers in Scotland and other northern lands.

Wind-pollinated plants are the most prolific sources of foreign particles in the air. This is a problem for people with allergies.

Spores are closely related to pollens. Spores are the reproductive bodies of fungi, which include molds, yeasts, rusts, mildews, puffballs and mushrooms. Tiny spores are adrift everywhere in the air, even over the oceans. Although they resemble pollens in general appearance, spores are not fertilizing agents. Instead, they are like seeds, and give rise to new organisms wherever they take hold. Spores have been found as high as 14 miles in the air over the entire globe. Most fungi depend on the wind for spore dissemination. Once airborne, spores are carried easily by the slightest air currents.

Once, physicians were taught that infectious microorganisms quickly settle out of the air and die. Today, the droplets ejected, say, by a sneeze, are known to evaporate almost immediately, leaving whatever microorganisms they contain to drift through the air. Only a relatively small fraction of microorganism’s human beings breathe cause disease. In fact, most bacteria are actually helpful. Some, for example, convert atmospheric nitrogen into usable plant food. Pathogenic, or disease-producing, microorganisms, however, can be very dangerous. Most propagate by subdivision-each living cell splits into two cells. Each of the new cells then grows and divides again into two more cells. Provided with ideal conditions, populations multiply quickly. Fortunately microorganisms do not thrive very well in the air. Unless there is enough humidity in the air, many desiccate and die. Short exposure to the ultraviolet radiation of the Sun also kills most microorganisms. Low temperatures greatly decrease their activity, and elevated temperatures destroy them rapidly. Still, many microorganisms survive in the air, despite these hazards. Among the tiniest of airborne particles are viruses, which are on the borderline between living matter and lifeless chemical substances.

Earth is the only planet we know of that can support life. This is an amazing fact, considering that it is made out of the same matter as other planets in our solar system, was formed at the same time and through the same processes as every other planet, and gets its energy from the sun. To a universal traveler, Earth may seem to be a harmless little planet in the far reaches of one of billions of spiral galaxies in the universe. It has an average size star of average brightness and is joined by seven other planets — which support no known life forms — in its solar system. While this may be fitting for a passage from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, in the grand scheme of the universe, it would be a fairly accurate description. However, Earth is a planet teeming with vitality and is home to billions of plants and animals that share a common evolutionary track. How and why did we get here? What processes had to take place for this to happen? And where do we go from here? The fact is, no one has been able to come close to knowing exactly what led to the origins of life, and we may never know. After 5 billion years of Earth’s formation and evolution, the evidence may have been lost. But scientists have made significant progress in understanding what chemical processes that may have led to the origins of life. There are many theories, but most have the same general perspective of how things came to be the way they are. Following is an account of life’s beginnings based on some of the leading research and theories related to the subject, and of course, fossil records dating back as far as 3.5 billion years ago.

The solar system was created from gas clouds and dust that remained from the Sun's formation some 6-7 billion years ago. This material contained only about .2% of the solar system's mass with the Sun holding the rest. Earth began to form over 4.6 billion years ago from the same cloud of gas (mostly hydrogen and helium) and interstellar dust that formed our sun, the rest of the solar system and even our galaxy. In fact, Earth is still forming and cooling from the galactic implosion that created the other stars and planetary systems in our galaxy. This process began about 13.6 billion years ago when the Milky Way Galaxy began to form. As our solar system began to come together, the sun formed within a cloud of dust and gas that continued to shrink in upon itself by its own gravitational forces. This caused it to undergo the fusion process and give off light, heat and other radiation. During this process, the remaining clouds of gas and dust that surrounded the sun began to form into smaller lumps called planetesimals, which eventually formed into the planets we know today.

A large number of small objects, called planetesimals, began to form around the Sun early in the formation of the solar system. These objects were the building blocks for the planets that exist today. The Earth went through a period of catastrophic and intense formation during its earliest beginnings 4.6-4.4 billion years ago. By 3.8 to 4.1 billion years ago, Earth had become a planet with an atmosphere (not like our atmosphere today) and an ocean. This period of Earth’s formation is referred to as the Precambrian Period. The Precambrian is divided into three parts: the Hadean, Archean and Proterozoic Periods.

The Earth formed under so much heat and pressure that it formed as a molten planet. For nearly the first billion years of formation (4.5 to 3.8 billion years ago) — called the Hadean Period (or hellish period) — Earth was bombarded continuously by the remnants of the dust and debris — like asteroids, meteors and comets — until it formed into a solid sphere, pulled into orbit around the sun and began to cool down. Earth's early atmosphere most likely resembled that of Jupiter's atmosphere, which contains hydrogen, helium, methane and ammonia, and is poisonous to humans. (Photo: NASA, from Voyager 1). As Earth began to take solid form, it had no free oxygen in its atmosphere. It was so hot that the water droplets in its atmosphere could not settle to form surface water or ice. Its first atmosphere was also so poisonous, comprised of helium and hydrogen, that nothing would have been able to survive.
Earth’s second atmosphere was formed mostly from the outgassing of such volatile compounds as water vapor, carbon monoxide, methane, ammonia, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, hydrochloric acid and sulfur produced by the constant volcanic eruptions that besieged the Earth. It had no free oxygen. About 4.1 billion years ago, the Earth’s surface — or crust — began to cool and stabilize, creating the solid surface with its rocky terrain. Clouds formed as the Earth began to cool, producing enormous volumes of rainwater that formed the oceans. For the next 1.3 billion years (3.8 to 2.5 billion years ago), the Archean Period, first life began to appear and the world’s land masses began to form. Earth’s initial life forms were bacteria, which could survive in the highly toxic atmosphere that existed during this time. Toward the end of the Archean Period and at the beginning of the Proterozoic Period, about 2.5 billion years ago, oxygen-forming photosynthesis began to occur. The first fossils were a type of blue-green algae that could photosynthesize.

Earth's atmosphere was first supplied by the gasses expelled from the massive volcanic eruptions of the Hadean Era. These gases were so poisonous, and the world was so hot, that nothing could survive. As the planet began to cool, its surface solidified as a rocky terrain, much like Mars' surface (center photo) and the oceans began to form as the water vapor condensed into rain. First life came from the oceans. Some of the most exciting events in Earth’s history and life occurred during this time, which spanned about two billion years until about 550 million years ago. The continents began to form and stabilize, creating the supercontinent Rodinia about 1.2 billion years ago. Although Rodinia is composed of some of the same land fragments as the more popular supercontinent, Pangea, they are two different supercontinents. Pangea formed some 225 million years ago and would evolve into the seven continents we know today. Free oxygen began to build up around the middle of the Proterozoic Period — around 1.8 billion years ago — and made way for the emergence of life as we know it today. This increased oxygen created conditions that would not allow most of the existing life to survive and thus made way for the more oxygen-dependent life forms. By the end of the Proterozoic Period, Earth was well along in its evolutionary processes leading to our current period, the Holocene Period,  or Anthropocene Period, also known as the Age of Man. Thus, about 525 million years ago, the Cambrian Period began. During this period, life “exploded,” developing almost all of the major groups of plants and animals in a relatively short time. It ended with the massive extinction of most of the existing species about 500 million years ago, making room for the future appearance and evolution of new plant and animal species. About 498 million years later — 2.2 million years ago — the first modern human species emerged.

Did You Know? The first modern human being was called **** habilis, the first of the **** genus. This species developed stone tools for use in daily life. **** habilis means “Handy Man.” He existed from about 2.2 to 1.5 million years ago. There are earlier species related to modern man, called hominids. The images show the skull shape and probable appearance of **** habilis.

The PreCambrian Period — accounts for about 90 percent of Earth’s history. It lasted for about four billion years until about 550 million years ago. About 70 percent of the world’s land masses were created in the Archean Era, between 3.8 and 2.5 million years ago. Rodinia, widely recognized as the first supercontinent, formed during the Proterozoic Era, about 2.5 billion years ago. It is believed that the oldest human family member was discovered in Ethiopia and lived 4.4 million years ago. It was named “Ardi,” short for Ardipithecus ramidus.
Deep in the woods where the wild things roam

Back in the dark there are things

That happen at night when you'r all safe at home

When young men compete to be kings.

It happens each year when the falls fairs are on

These gatherings out in the dark

Thanksgiving arrives and the boys all move on

From these things that they do for a lark

The gauntlet's thrown down by the challenging swarm

To the winner of last years crusade

His blood doesn't boil, but it sure does get warm

Now that this years challenge is made

It normally starts at the Aylmer Fall Fair

"Josiah, you're not is our class!"

He doesn't fight back he just breathes deep and stares

For to him,  it's a sin for to sass

They show up at night, all dressed up in black

No surprise if you knew how they live

But tonight is the time, for them all to step up

For a Lesson's about to be give

The street was all dark, save a lantern or two

as the riders came out from the trees

These were not the old wagons you saw in the dark

These were ones that would make your heart freeze

Josiah stepped forth from the bustling crowd

Mr. Martin he said...I am here

Now is the time to show just how proud

of the horses you have over there.

I've heard of this race in the darkest of nights

Where the young men come out and are facing

Their fears and their hopes with only two lights

It's the start of Amish Drag Racing

It was something to see these men dressed all the same

Two big clydesdales each made up their team

But to both of these men, this was not just a game

This was the way that they all burned off steam

They didn't dare fight for that was a sin

And team sports didn't get the job done

None of them drank so there was no need for gin

And a barnraising just wasn't fun

Mr. Martin climbed up and he steadied his ride

Young Josiah just stood there and stared

Mr. Martin looked out, he was beaming with pride

Poor Josiah just stood looking scared

The starter came forth and he said to the men

With this hanky I will start the race

I will let it fly loose once I count to ten

And I let it fly free into space.

He counted it down and let go of the rag

And nobody moved from the post

Mr. Martins horse stood as did Josiahs old nag

And they both looked like they'd just  seen a ghost

The hanky was black just like ones they all had

And nobody saw him let go

The race buildup was great but the start was quite bad

In fact some men started to go

So, they tried it again with a different technique

Cause they found nothing there that was white

You can say it was strange but I say unique

To watch Amish men race in the night.

The horses lurched forth like two huge tyco trains

Sweat was poring from off of their backs

You could see from their eys it was really a strain

As their drivers took up the reigns slack

Equally paired, with two horsepower each

They tore up the road like a shot

But a really fast speed they both never would reach

Cause two clydesdales just don't run so hot.

Amish drag racing is really a night

To see if the other would show

For it's really no way to prove who is right

And the attendance is really quite low

So if you get invited and your hear of a race

That takes place where wild things  roam

Say you'd love to attend but you think to save face

You'd prefer not and would rather stay home.
..
preservationman Apr 2016
Shape and structure coming together
Body composition like no other
A date in pushing heavy weights
But as a Bodybuilder how each muscle relate
Fitness and Bodybuilding all require all the nutrition that you take in
It’s the energy to help you begin and strength in continual at the end
Fitness and Bodybuilding is about body shape and construct
But careful concentration that you don’t run a mock
However, Bodybuilding being more intense with precise body buildup principles
It’s not a simple process
It’s focus with a mission
The battle with weights for condition

The whole point is strictly exercise
The new image from training in thinking wise
A Gym being the place to create the new you
The results in the mirror for you to look through
The Personal Trainer guiding you every step of the way
Proven assessments that will be ok
Fitness and Bodybuilding coming together as two separate sports
Intensity at one end and shape contouring at the other
“Exercise is to look a certain way, tomorrow your after will be another day”.
Daniello Mar 2012
At a party [many people, dressed nice, cocktails
going round] someone I guess awoke to my presence
as if I’d just appeared out of nowhere or something
and asked me [totally circular eyes, spearing pupils]
like this: And what do you do? I looked at him, and I
don’t know what face I made, but what I wanted to
look like was something to this effect, matter-of-factly:
Well, what do you think I do? Obviously, I simply
try to avoid, day by day,
a wretchedly hopeless case of dismal ennui.
I try to endure, as stoically I can, the
inner doggerel convulsions
and mawkish throes educed by the
realization of transcendental insignificance
(or, otherwise: paradoxically substantial nothingness)
that imbues all hope of Elysian ecstasy and
reduces it to but the terrifyingly
ineluctable fact that we are essentially
impotent holograms functioning by the fixed fractal geometry
of a dynamic and chaotic, kaleidomosaic-like reality,
which, as eternally self-transforming and
forever utterly inconceivable,
is devoid of any certainty, absolute truth
and, most of all, compassion.
Furthermore, when I look at you, I see a deaf-mute
reflection of a reflection of myself, and
to be morbidly honest, I don’t
know what I can tell you that would
make any difference to the fact that, freely or
not, we are both, you and I, just passing
through our lonely, fathomless, patterned
deserts, blinded and lured by the Fata
Morgana of our sadly sublimated
consciousnesses, due to which, undulating up ahead
of us in a chimerical haze, we are
conditioned to think, fatuously, that we know,
or that it’s possible even to know, that
it means something to love or not to love, that it
matters at all whether we are alone or
not, and that, at the point of death, there will be
something, somewhere, that will condense
somehow out of this
nauseatingly numinous fog and, like a deserved,
blissful wash of our “souls”—like a salvation!—
will come to justify the inanities
and insanities of our mundane life as just the
confusing buildup to a final and triumphantly
epiphanic crystallization in which, at last,
we will truly understand, unquestionably, the meaning of I,
the meaning of you, the meaning of truth,
and the meaning of meaning—I mean, honestly sir.
What do you do?
That’s what I hope my face looked like, but I guess it
must’ve looked like something else, or maybe I said
something, because the man just raised both his brows
[his left one slightly more than his right] and stared
me down in mocked awe, on the verge of superciliousness.
His eyes slowly receded like a tide imperceptibly towards
the back of his skull, his lips pursed, parched, and pitying.
Then he nodded complaisantly, too energetically, saying:
Oh, how interesting! Did you always see yourself getting
into something like that? Mmhmm. Hmm! [and so forth]
And how do you like that? Mmhmm. [and so forth] And
the pay? Mmhmm [etcetera]. After I’d finished answering
some of his questions, I said: If you’ll excuse me, I just saw
a friend of mine, I really should go and say hi, but what a
pleasure it was to talk to you, sir. Take care!
And I excused myself.
Zena O'Brien Jul 2014
Feeling frustration today.
A buildup of a sort.
Life seems to have fallen short.
So tired of the fight.
I don't know if things will be alright.
Push down the pain thinking it will go away.
But it surfaces and stays.
Fear of losing control and letting others in.
Loneliness within.
Frustration on what to do.
Frustration on where to go.
Frustration with the absurdity of life I know.
Jon Tobias Feb 2012
She laughs as I tell her how
The way she devours her stadium dog
Is so *******
I can’t concentrate

Only we are interrupted by
The crack of gunshot over an open plain

It is followed by a hoorah hurricane
So unison I stop trying to make her laugh

Think about the car ride later
And being stuck in traffic
And sliding gently into home

I want to tell her about years from now
Ninth inning deathbed passion
When my red seems finally begin to burst their cotton
About the splinters living inside of my hands
I was living with them inside of my hands

That’s why I was so rough sometimes
How the scotch guard kept the **** off of my knees

I loved to trace the outline of her ***** diamond
Until there were grooves in there
And my initials in her catchers mound

We are so much hoarse voices
Lost in the noise of ***** hands clapping

How I imagine
As I am sliding into home
In our shower
The soft patter of water on the curtain is stadium applause

Let me run grooves in your shapely pattern
Your laughter is a full circle homerun from heartache

Save me again sweet music
Open plain gunshot buildup
And then a noise so booming it is silence

And us
Ninth inning deathbed lovers
Gently sliding into home
This poem was a challenge to me to write about baseball. I wrote about this instead. Close enough I think.
Madelynn Nieves Jun 2017
My conscience is loud
yet my voice never comes,
It's disarming what dependency can do, altering your character,
until you are simply a character,
weaving falsities into strands of fools gold, until you're living in an armor
of the emperors new clothes.

I swore to myself,
that I would never again be this person, the one with my finger
on the self destruct button,
but sliding down the hill
comes much easier than climbing.

And at the bottom,
numbness awaits me,
making me fearless.

I feel the cold wash over me,
goosebumps all throughout my being,
as the waves begin to rise.  

She covers me,
salty yet sweet,
and everything makes sense.

The meaning of life in a pretty peach casing.

I am Invincible.

I am Oblivious.

She peaks and soon crashes,
repeatedly against me,
making me feel like the world could end and I wouldn't even think to care.

But what at first seemed exhilarating, wears on me to no end,
the buildup and constant let down.

She's lost her novelty,
and with that,
the numbness fades.

Sobering up for long enough to realize,
I am the definition of insanity.

Inviting you back in so often,
I no longer have defenses against you.
You snuck into my priorities without me ever noticing.
Like that song you hate so much but can't help to sing.

Will I ever get rid of your tune in my head?

Will I ever be able to say no when you call?
Eric Dec 2013
Disney
Like America
Looks awesome in the brochure
But feels faded and slightly forced
A bit of a letdown after the buildup

Still
Wild eyed zealots
Sacrifice their year’s savings at the altar of the mouse
A western Hajj eulogized by matching Toy Story t shirts

I really feel
I missed an important moment of cultural indoctrination
That left me insensitive
To the draw of this place.

A surprise comes though,
As instead of the expected moral superiority
I feel a sense
Of loneliness
And societal exclusion
As I watch
An old man with a silhouette of Mickey Mouse tattooed on his forearm  
Happily
Buy a Bud Light for $5.95
Andre Collier Sep 2012
One can easily become disillusioned in a world senselessly  
Filled with confusion and upheaval – evil at every corner,
and it appears as though good has become unsustainable  
Bleak as tomorrow’s tidings may, I stay on bended knees
Looking upward with unanswered questions - let wisdom
Rain down like libations, to quench thirst wrought off miles
upon life’s rugged road, and before the end has come I want
To have left behind a legacy of achievement, taking whatever
Motivation I can get to buildup up conviction, until cynicism
is converted into action - my spirit soaring like an eagle propels
My ambition to loftier heights thought unimagined – so I wait
Patiently for a windfall gain, made from choices to facilitate change  
For I’m indomitable, from a lineage of kings rising above the worlds
condition, like a sprightly star among the constellations…
Robert Dimas Jan 2014
A player in life’s game
Only bears one aim.
Keep up the charade,
Masquerade reality.
Forced smiles
Cover  up the sweat of shame
He withers inside.

Anxious minds wander
seeking to know the truth.
Any tidbit of conversation will do.
Twisted diction ruins lives.
Words are hollow;
his emptiness revealed; he won’t deny.

Can’t dodge the stench.
Years of buildup have left
his mind wrecked.
Teeth stained with lies,
the time has come to live
in the light.

“Fa la la” the jester sings,
Mocking his incredulity.
Through the air revelation rings.
Though time doesn’t heal
the scars agony has left on his entirety,
he wears a mask of stone
to hide the distorted fantasy.

When the time comes to celebrate the truth,
He finds it’s the hardest thing to do.
If only for his own sake,
There’s no going back
And he knows he must leave this place.

In a world unknown true happiness lies,
Shifted vision has allowed him to see
A way to be, he’s searched for desperately.
His world to leave behind,
Never looking back
He knows it’s the only way to rewrite his story.

The salient charge;
He must break free.
Carve new paths in life’s worn down trails.
Only then can he break his step
From  his life: the cruel charade.
jack of spades Oct 2013
Churning in your stomach
Burning on your tongue
Taser in the chest
Hatefully sung
Pulsing of your mind
Slamming of your heart
Flatline screen
Electric start
Crawling through your veins
Sinking in your blood
Building, building, building
Til your insides begin to flood
Pulsing of your mind
Slamming of your heart
Flatline screen
Electric start
This is the buildup
This is the monster's best
Wait to see what happens
When it bursts through your chest
Clawing, crawling
Stabbing, grabbing
Feeding and falling
This is the monster start
Ripping out your heart
This is the buildup
The monster start
probably one of the best things i've ever written
Amelia Jo Anne Nov 2013
anxiety attacks like
volcanic eruptions
buildup unbreakable.
the explosion is
the worst kind of release
it seems like the scariest
part but don't forget
the fallout
the devastation of
any living thing
nearby.
boom. sizzle.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2021
Of ***** roasting pans and racks and island fog!

if you love me, then you know poems wright themselves when standing, driving, bus riding, love-making and especially when
doing manly battle, ******* ***** dishwashing midst island fog

a passing remark goes noticed and summoned to a
Friday night feast, roasted fowl, wild rice with golden raisins and mushrooms, English spring peas, was it a Montrachet?

for dessert the washing up is obligation mine, a traditional desertion,
separation of church and state, her cooking a church  in which I worship, she states eloquently:
“Unto Caesaria , Render Her the cleanup”

this is hand to hand combat, no dishwasher mechanical
can scrub like the human hand, and with body english,
water hot, but no gloves employed for this is ***** man’s work,
not for sissies, cleaning roasting pans and roasting racks
that are at least twenty years burnt and crusted with a blackened
finish, residue of other lovers and dinners P.N. (pre-nat)

array three kinds of sponges and some human & metallic *****,
no one asking which came first,
the scrubbing away of life feasting residues,
or the poem writing that comes with pre & postscript sleepiness

when I say the dark stains and the grease buildup are
flavor enhancers, am beknighted with starry stares of
“how stupid do you think I am?” and sadly return to the
Battle of Agincourt, the one the American lost….



but they do source poems that flavor life

2020
*sometime last year?
Valora Brave Dec 2016
0.  I was just trying to breathe

Every inch of my story line
I drank like coffee that you need so badly
You don't notice the taste of ash
it leaves in your throat
and when I breathed out smoke,
slowly gliding from my tongue,
you'll know, the words I can't choke
the ones I hung to dry,
but left them outside
through a crisp winter season
and returned just in time
to catch the lullaby as it dissolved into water.
I couldn't wait any longer.
I broke them into icy pieces
that fit back in my mouth.
I held them there long after I breathed
the blizzard that had formed in my stomach.
I couldn't swallow, I couldn't breathe
and I couldn't wait for you to leave.

So I locked my icy breath in my hands
and looked for silent corners between buildings
so I could begin to understand
how to squeezed out the blood from the words I've been spilling

I. White Moonlight

I went up the mountain side
listening to the canyon's song.
Dancing beneath the tree lines, I soaked
in the pines and cypresses.

I ran to the west, searching for a place to rest.
Fell asleep in the foothills
and had to run home to catch the light
Running in the dark, I would not beat the night.

[I was a villager traveling through
There came the White Knight with red hair in view
offered a space, a safe place for the night]


The white knight held out his hand to an aching soul.
Accepted.
Trusting the purity in a path lit by moonlight
Unknowingly, I would never trust white again.

II. Static

Deceived and seduced by the safety and warmth of white,
There was a subtle yellow tint in your light
that began to scream from its origin and fight against the walls
A cinderblock room colored in skin absorbed my calls

There was air trapped in my bones
that halted movement and created unfamiliar vocal tones
There were no cuts or bloodstains,
but all that was white drained to red
as he wrapped my limbs in reins
(to) make them dance, make them spread
Dance for the White Knight
make them move as you please, White Knight.

This body was a delicate ship that had been sunken
from a night spent in a dungeon
with a monster disguised as a man
whose touch would shave inches from my wingspan
Now these limbs do not belong,
the pressure outlines of your unwelcomed hands
Whimpers became the lyrics to my muted, morning song

I didn't know, how minutes can become tattooed in your veins
with each breath, a gentle push of blood through your body
you begin to taste the ***** again
the red clouds invade and bring me back to the monster's den

Now he holds these layers as the corners all peel
from a defeat long ago, a kidnapping, a delicious steal
The potency of your dominance
the power you must have felt
in watching a flower melt

III. Silence

The moon is now a cold light,
but nothing is wrong.
A response clean as white-
A secret
to be naked and unprotected for so long.

My youth cools the coffee
My stomach burns the atmosphere
encapsulating me
Teeth marks stains on my pillowcases
In the day, there is outward harmony
Like carefully crisscrossed shoelaces
Night falls with the sound of silent sobs.
My walls begin to melt.
They are turning yellow
Reliving how it felt
to be betrayed by something white.
I can't live through the day with anticipation of the night
when that white light floods in
I try to tear you out from beneath my skin

IV. Don't Try to Love Me

The luxury to be still.
Motions that were quiet
Set the music to your gaze
as you reopen the tears
When will you open the steel curtains,
you drape around your heart?

I run my fingertips and I can’t find
how you’ve cloaked the mistakes in your architecture
There is nothing poetic about solitude
Let me pinpoint the coordinates of your pain
Let me find the exact longitude
Let me be your constant latitude
I know you are alive

You live in some unknown torment,
I once saw you writhe in the night
and under the moonlight

He didn’t know
How I was preoccupied
I had to settle the background noise
the constant buzz between my ears
that fills my head so I could never hear
How much he could have loved me.


V. Patience

How sweet to be loved by you
You are warm weather in February
You are the reflection of a mountain in a reservoir
mais mon humeur est noire

We were in a large room lit
by one lamp in the far corner
when words poured from my jaw of glass,
I guess I could have asked
but it seems no one knows
the cadence and way words can flow
into our hearts and puncture the soul

How sweet it was, to think I could be loved by you
You are figurine of my fears
A January wedding in three years
A shadow mapping an escape plan
Yet I lace my fingers in your hand

You don't belong with me
but when the delicate words
trembled from your lips
and your voice stopped
with my stare
Both your hands in my hair
I wish I knew how to tell you,
but I couldn't remember why
you had to be someone to just pass the time.

VI. Deliberate Return

It should have felt like
a lifted weight
so I could move through
an unlocked gate

brush your teeth on my neck
and your cheeks across my chest
I thought last time was the last time
Tiny drops became the anthem
And the tears found a quiet path
To roll onto my belly
Between you and me

I could still taste the poetry you left in my mouth
the deception and interception
of my growth
and of my youth

My clothes hung off my back
darkness from all the sleep I lack
Trying to wash out the scent of you
after 6 years, I thought I'd be through
but you've kept me here and I've let you

I am a lost warrior in the meadow
Treading water every night
Trapped in an internal fight
You held me in the shadows
Grabbing at the wildflowers in my breath
But I just kept breathing in the echoes
Of a time I must let go

The mist of my trouble followed me in March
I’d sit with tea and say things like ‘I feel better, but maybe not tomorrow’
There was no promise
Just moderate disbelief
No security in my sleep
So when I shook your outline out of my sheets
Laid in bed where I once lost my youth
I wish that this was not my truth

VII. Shuddering While Healing

There is a section of the river where
the current sends it’s shivers
The wind dances with the tree branches in slow motion
(but) I was grown with my toes on the edge of the ocean
Leaning in with your hand and handsome love songs
about relentlessness and forgiveness
You sang a gold song
like a January river
flowing beneath the ice
You thought your love could break through
that shallow ceiling, but I couldn't hear the tapping
as you drowned beneath my feet
I was submerged in the cross currents
pulling me and hugging me caught in the center
how I heated up and bent you
then left to wade in the river
how you stayed next to me
and remained never bitter

I can't find the line
and I can't ask you to throw me one
because I'm dragging you in as I float through
tracing the fire I began on this river
with my fingertips
and remembering how I was grown on the shore
but how I can never be sure
if the breath in my ear
is someone to be trusted
or if the breath in my ear
is that monster crawling near
taking the color, once again, from my atmosphere.

VIII. Fragile

The sweet kisses he planted on my shoulders
and the moves he made were full of truth
The guilt he felt should have been mine
but the longer he stayed the more I felt fine

For the other’s love was simply beige
And outlined in black
I didn’t want excitement
I didn’t want lust
It was not enticement or boredom
It was from the buildup of rust
between my bones.
And I listened to your breath against my shoulder through the phone.
It hit me like an ensemble
predicating the concerto.
You were just an instrument.
And here I thought I was the conductor
just dreaming of ways to escape.
And I don’t sleep well when I’m next to him either.
Because I’m dreaming of ways to relate.
And I don’t sleep well when I’m alone.
Because there’s no one left to blame.
So now trying to be tame
Searching for an answer
in a small place like alone

IX. Releasing

What it means to be powerful
I saw it in shades of red
To find your feet still melt the snow
To find the only security is within
the confounds of your frozen bones
I was sure that diving meant drowning
but I've been drowning on the shore
Since you touched me and wanted more
Since you saw me raw
I evolved into a monster
scratching and clawing at your dungeon's door
You can't keep me here forever

You displaced my trust in balance
and turned something beautiful into something *******
But if I can see your belly button,
then you were born once too.

What does it mean to be powerful?
I can do it in soft baby blue
I can do it with the haunting memory of you,
but I don't want you with me anymore
So, good night white knight.
You don’t get to have this moonlight
and soon I will no longer be afraid of the color white.

X. Tenderness

Tenderness.
That was the name of my pain.
It was not the bitterness
that makes us take down photographs
or change the song.
It was not about bitterness.
It’s about tenderness
and distance

I learned that the silent pauses
between gusts of wind causes
more sound than running facets.

I learned when you’re ******* for feelings
You start to feel the weight of the ceilings
We just hold on our backs and call it 'dealing.'

Trying to achieve the humility of a willow tree
Turning yellow in the slow descent to winter
But I’m not going to wait to give you what you need
White knight, tonight, I leave
Because I know you’ve been living in me like a splinter
Strong enough to puncture
Weak enough to be removed
This glass castle is just a structure
That could be improved

But you already made a house
And now you’re trying to pick out decorations
Let me tell you, humans are not decorations
Another human should be a matched foundation
I think you almost saw that too
When you felt the vibration of the wind from me to you

Terrified because it’s never about growing
it’s about pride.
Too scared of showing
the days we cried
cried so hard it became
the anthem of our week.
No, we can never show we are weak

Terrified
The fragility of our pride
So we disconnect, in order to protect.

Let me tell you, no one describes this life as a glide
If they do, they lied
Everyone is terrified or uninteresting
Yet we are all putting up walls and distancing

Farther and farther
What would it feel like if I asked you about the sound of tenderness?
Or what it looks like to be repaired?
We are so afraid of being unprepared
we don’t hear how the wind
sounds like children growing
How healing feels like the roll of the river
and just because you shiver
does not mean you will be cold forever
and those silent pauses between gusts of terror
when we are just a step away from pulling that lever
are the moments we should reflect on
These are all those things that cause us
to be terrified
and learn to be tender

XI. Happiness Doesn’t Leave a Mark

How do I tell you
that every day used to be a battle?
One that I fought because I had to
so I could get up and fight the next day.
It was never about winning.

This is a Saturday night kind of pain.
The kind you feel that doesn't belong to you.
But at least you are no longer numb.

I want to show you where I'm from.
That childhood house that saw too many ways
to shatter plates on holidays
When I left, I grew back wings
and flew through the haze
You see, plates and whites are just things
but you can make anything a symbol
and when you see that this is no signal,
this is a sign. That I can be standing here with you
and still die
but this time, maybe I’ll let you inside
because
I've been too many people to start anew
I've loved the color blue
Loved a man with an amber hue
I was damaged in a yellow room
but I cannot match a color to you

My mother,
She said "the weakest point in a rope
is where it connects to another
and your insides are tangled"
You see, I can live with the knots
I want to look at you and know
You can trust this knot to hold
You know I'll pull through
You're not so scared
of a scar, or a few
Because I want to share where I've been with you
*and that includes the happiness too.
Nightman Jul 2016
It started off so innocently
A summer's night, after a summer's day
Feelings grew greater
From little buds they did bloom

We were curious
Prying at each other
Testing the waters
Seeing what and wasn't really there

A chance was taken
A reaction given
And we knew, shockingly, how we felt

Further we danced, entangling ourselves
Deeper we fell into mystery, apprehension
Then there was a response to my call, or perhaps a call to my response

We made each other feel funny
We made each other laugh
We can be comfortable together
This may only be the first half

It appears that I'm the Superman to your Lois Lane
And that we will never forget
You make me feel happy
Carina Jan 2018
In a library you could find a book's buildup,
There was this quiet girl who hid behind bookshelves.
She was special, for she took the courage to stand up;
For those who could not stand up for themselves.

She realized that those fighting what they're fearing,
Often did not have a choice.
And that the ones worth hearing,
Often did not have the loudest voice.

She was the one to have her sails unfurled,
In a storm, yet not inflect.
For sometimes those who change the world,
Are the ones you least expect.
Dedicated to everyone who has the courage to fight injustice and help others without thinking twice. You are the ones that change the world!
Dark n Beautiful Oct 2018
You cannot swim where there is no water
However, you can drown from the inside
Our skin changes ever seven years,
New cells, new ideas, new technology

However, the first lady in the house
Is not the same lady of yesteryears?
Even if she said she doesn’t care:
Most likely, you can drown from the inside
From tears, humiliation, aggravation

Never mind how traumatic those situations might be
There is no antidote for buildup pride 

Love is NOT the antidote to pride – humility is:
And who has agitated her more than him:
Her eyes and her voice show fears:
I sense her wait, she will be free again
Fake happiness is dangerous.

**Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting." Bernard Meltzer
Tracie Bulkley Jan 2014
The first time I sat down and wrote
I was just a little girl
Eleven... Twelve?
What a terrible thing to happen to a child
I read Bridge to Terabithia and wept bitterly
I just couldn't understand why anyone had to die
So I tried to turn it around
Have a story rewrite itself into perfection
But I quickly discovered the ending
That endings are the healing after heartbreak
And without the pain
There is no satisfaction in the ******
No release after the buildup
No rest after release
And it just made me notice
But that's not what I want to talk about just now
That's not the kind of mood I'm in
No, I'm in the kind of thrall that's only present
When you've already lost it all but almost no one knows
When you thought you knew how
And you thought that you could do this
But no one's sure you did it right
And no one really cares anyway
When I'd rather rave and rail
Thrash against the pain
And scream against the chains I know I wear
But cannot see them with my eyes
And who do I believe out there
All they say
The mysterious, murderous, undefined "they"
They say that good is evil, and evil good
And sin is art and art is something you can judge and **** and curse
And no two sides will take my side
Because there is no spectrum
Just a line you cross or do not cross
But I think I must exist somewhere
Lost between the infinitely small sides of the invisible line
And the middle ground is me
But there is no middle ground
Just a little girl who thought
That she could write her misery
Out of existence when she burned the pages
The pages of the Bridge on which she died
You could put it down
as youthful folly, or spit out
the hackneyed line about
pride and what goeth after.

It's true, I over-reached,
wanting to limitless kiss
the sun's crisp lips.

I did hold her glowing cheeks
firmly in my palms
for one exquisite breath.

Can you, rocking there
in your comfy prison,
say the same?

There comes a time to sit
astride clouds and burn off
the waxy buildup of childish things.

The weightlessness before
the plunge feels
like it will never end,
but, I can tell you, it does.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Sophie Herzing Aug 2013
It doesn't matter what color you'd bleed if you'd cut yourself.
It doesn't matter what you did last Friday or what you've already got planned
for the weekend after that,
how much rage you're going to make with the best
of so called buddies,
or even how many times you came "this close" to almost dying.

But I fell for that **** because it was scary and because
it was everything I taught myself to never want in anything
that meant it could fill me
but I used you to feel full and not so empty and tempted
to engage myself in something that would worry my mother if she knew all the secrets.

It doesn't matter what you've done before and how good that makes you now
at what you tricked me into doing.
It doesn't matter how fast you talk or how many people
you can choose to falsely idolize because of a stereotype or a media buildup.

No one was ever crowned king because of self proclamation.
You have to earn a rule like that.

It doesn't matter, to you, who you hurt as long as you gain something when you get there.
And that was me, sadly, who you got in between some bad timing
and a little self loathing.
I just wanted to feel good and you let me do that in the most wrong,
disgusting, abusive way.
And it doesn't matter what people say to you in the morning,
how many high five's you get or how long it'll be remembered.

All that matters
is that when you're drunk at the creek on another "turnt up" night
of losing yourself in illusions your insecurities lead you to believe
you're thinking of me.
You're thinking of how good something so real like me could be
if you only gave up your blinded trust for one second so you could see
what you're turning into and what I guess I thought
you always could be.
Devon Leonel Dec 2012
Your touch is fire.
Trails of heat that mark
Each place where skin brushed skin.
Sinking, spreading into a rich, warm glow.

Your touch is ice.
Frosty tendrils entwining
The delicate nervous network they find.
Cool shivers radiating from every fiber.

Your touch is lightning.
A buildup of charge
As distance closes.
On contact, a surge, a tingling rush.

Fire, ice, lightning:
Touched by three,
And by three bound;
And all three bound within a single touch.
Eliza Fairchild Apr 2016
It all starts with the condensation of emotions
Cells supersaturated with sadness
Solute buildup presses outward
Overloaded tear ducts haphazardly spill forth
Distilled thoughts leave shimmering trails
before crystallizing leaving
a crust of salt behind.
An ephemeral remnant
bound to wash away
JDK Dec 2013
Going inside and out
Compression to stretching
Something like breathing
Exalted expression

Who's playing this squeezebox?
Can I make a request?
Play something lively, loud, and fast

My heart's tied in knots
My brain's hanging on
By the skin of my teeth
For the length of one song

Dance like you're dying
And dance like you're dead
Life is little more
Than a song in your head

Break down the walls and let it all in
Dance as if this moment will never end

Move to the rhythm and jump towards your soul
Suspended stringless puppet under no one's control
Fall down to yourself right on top of the beat
Spinning in the center of where all the lines meet

Slow it down for the break and take a deep breath
Potential energy buildup for what's coming next
Those chills in the moment right before it all hits
Soul body and mind caught up in the mix

Hear it; explode
Supernovate the senses
The death of a star amid a galaxy of faces
To be born again
In a jet stream of limbs
I find enlightenment
At 150 bpm
PLUR
Robert C Ellis Apr 2017
The spirit to the body:
“You cannot fall in love with this earth”
Gravity is not caress,
Breath, or the jest of birth
It is the yearn of worlds
An untethered God, Time
The insanity between the seconds
Of every molecule; delicious crime
Lia Feb 2015
i feel like i'm on the cusp of... something
just waiting for my stars to align
there's a hot buildup
tension in my tendons
my hands itch
R T Dawn Nov 2018
“**** me”
she said

As I twirled a finger;
down her cheek
to her lips
her collarbone
her *******
and more.

Slower and slower
I moved.
Lower and lower
whispering

“Soon”

Sheets gripped with talons,
lip bit with malice,
a dangerous game I played.

To grip a bull by the horns
means to eventually have to let go.
And the longer you hold on,
the wilder the ride will go.

“Soon”
I whispered,
and
“Please”
she begged...
RL Smith Jan 2014
We play it every summer
With the other people in our street
The buildup is slow
We fuss around, cleaning up
Distract ourselves with domestic chores
From the inevitability of the game
Will it be us this year?
The tension builds, as do the temperatures
We are sent emails - prepare, prepare!
Be ready for the game to begin, stay calm
I'm terrified
Every year is the same, but I'm not leaving
Just another high fire danger day
JDK Feb 2013
You're so sweet
I think I'll need dental work before this operation is complete
I intend to fill your cavity

Just a routine cleaning
I'm clearing out this buildup inside of me
Transfusing it into you
Open wide and say "Ah"

Tricky temptress
What's your damage
A throbbing tumescence
An internal hemorrhage
Count slowly back from ten while I put you under

Prepared for the incision
I handle my tool with precision
My IV dripped solution has got all these patients wishin'

I will donate this ***** to whoever needs a heart
That's gross
Stephanie Lynn Mar 2014
because
The words; they just keep coming
You feel the heat rise
From the pit of your insides
and you can't ignore it
in fact you adore it
The buildup of emotion
The release of commotion
It feels so good you scream
It doesn't matter who hears it
you know what it means
(C) Maxwell 2014
Jessica M Mar 2013
Oh, queen of ice
your sacrifice
was the skirt your mother threw out of her window
because she didn't want to think about
   the boys
   with their cigarettes
their hormones and sweaty fingers
pawing at your bare thighs

and the idea
of us being together
is like a bad joke
all the buildup
   and none of the satisfaction
Kewayne Wadley Mar 2017
Of all things sentimental.
She came through the door wearing a suit of armor.
The door closed behind her with a rattle and tick of swaying arms.
With rust around her eyes she longed to be melted down.
A drop left in her can of oil.
The metal on her chest plate dull, full of dents.
She explained that her heart stopped working.
That the gears and springs just won't turn.
With a screwdriver jammed in the middle and a bolt or two missing.
I heard the man behind the counter say that he could repair it but she too insisted in a louder voice.
Its not worth the trouble, that she'd rather be melted down.
Too much time has passed, she wants to finally feel the warmth of something genuine.
I watched her as she walked into the welder's shop.
Some people laughed. Others wore a look of wrinkled eyebrows.
Revealing their defect. Noses turnt sharp in the air.
Beauty comes in all shapes and form.
A beautiful shape molded into tin to protect how precious she was.
Dings and dents from the rocks they'd throw.
The world is a cruel place.
Her operator forgetting her name, A reflection of alzheimer's not done intentionally.
The damage of watching everything around you slowly change.
The insecurities of home no longer being home.
She pierced a hole over her heart with a screwdriver.
Jamming the gears. Causing nuts bolts and springs to bounce everywhere in a buildup of steam.
Rust composites in the duct of her eyes.
I watched her walk through the door.
Making brief eye contact before walking through the door myself.
When I walked in there was no sign of her.
Just the man behind the counter setting out a new watch stained in rust
Makenzie Davis Aug 2011
You are the warmest winter,
Keeping it just warm enough to never snow.
Sitting somewhere in clouds above my world
Holding back the white flecks from encircling my globe.
But that’s what we’re doing now,
Trading a good thing for maybe something better.
Out to replace normal with an iceless ground
So that we don’t have to tiptoe around the weather.
And you don’t mind intertwining our lives
Like the temperatures are doing with seasons.
The borrowed days from autumn, newness of spring,
The connections from summer, and a million reasons.
Whatever we were doing then
Was a nice, natural time line, I guess.
More like a buildup than a countdown.
Less like accomplishment and more like success.
If it ever gets cold enough again,
It’s because the outdoors will finally understand
That by then we will have weaved blankets from comfort
And made hot chocolate with a richer feeling
Than being friends.
Until then I’ll be blowing on the fire
That I’ve been watching since I felt its heat.
Surely it can melt the plastic walls of my snow globe
That have been in the way of letting you
Make me feel complete.


*-Makenzie.
Silver Wolf Feb 2015
Screams ring out again
Blood seethes under opalescent flesh
Mouth mute
Choking on the hate
And profanities left unsaid
Anger running through veins
Water flows crimson
Like anger tinted rain
Creating bubbles holding
Ticking time bombs
I guess that's what I have to pay

Open wounds mark their presence
Like rusted pearls crusted over with
The buildup of lies
reminiscent of melancholy
Songs jammed into my bruised and battered head
Pounding out incessant melodies
Your voice lingers here
Invading and
It won't go away

Scar tissue blossoms into your definition of beauty Forget me knots and mauve hued contusions
Etched across peachy dreamscapes of what you Thought was yours
The darkest war ever known
Closing over
As you continue to **** me dry
As I pay you in my blood

Desiccated body bags and
Pieces of my skeletons
Left scattered over the places your feet have touched
Pushed further into the ground
The gallows of our past
Fossilized terrors of our mistakes
Until little memory remained
Of the contours of your face
Waves obscuring and obstructing the view
Words washing out like a flood

You broke me ****** again
And this time I can't forgive you
Wilkes Arnold Apr 2021
He cannot hear
I just now realized
He's deaf to it, it's all disguised
Everything, all of it, is crystal unclear
What's up is down and what's far is near

The radio boils
The microwave sings
The telephone listens, while his ear rings
But he hasn't noticed, his ignorance is loyal
To his strange world of backwards turmoil

His eyes tear up
At the toasters dull ding
Oblivious though, to orchestral strings
Crescendoing, divinus, in joyous buildup
An Ode only heard as a course hiccup

Puts books to his ear
But hears no voice
Thumbs through jibberish, but his hands hold Joyce
The steak tastes like spam and the wine of beer
He's deaf to it, all of it, everything I fear

He runs in squares
And lounges in circles
Tears down hopes, and builds up hurdles
Will flail in shallow water and fall up stairs
Then write love letters to hate-affairs

Has two left feet
And no right moves
His rhythm and soul have lost their groove
It's tragic, greek, a heart that offbeat
Might mistake victory and chance for fate and defeat.

He's wrong. What's more?
He's oxymoronic
His light-hearted prose are mostly sardonic
Wouldn't know an apple from an adonic core
Or discordant beats from euphonic score.

He's deaf to it,
Yes ears and all.
Despite what words I might here scrawl.
It will never get through to that dumb misfit
He's deaf and blind and full of ****.
The ending is a work in progress

— The End —