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Wen Ao Long Nov 2014
Hello snorer, I hope you didn't sleep any poorer
when I stayed up all night typing this not-poem
I meant you no harm, but I had to stay up
Because I couldn't make music out of your obnoxiously loud cacophony of windpipe crap, er "music".  Time to not-pretend to absolutely hate your snoring under the guise of being perfectly okay with it for the sake of setting the tone a bit nicer to all who must hear it, so they can BEAR to, for otherwise it would be absurd.  Not as absurd as anyone hating to have aural drills applied to all their chakras all night, but still absurd enough to get a chuckle out of me (I hope it didn't wake your fine specimen here). It was never my intent, though it was always my ethical concern (if only everyone could be as reciprocal as you and I).   Oh, my not-pretend hatred is very thinly veiled.  I wasn't totally defeated by your snore-sound armies so that I couldn't type words, but I may have lost some of my desired effect due to the sometimes wincing distraction they caused to my piece of mind at this or that time when I needed it the most (even though I was awake, which is no crime if snoring at night and keeping me that way isn't).

Well, I did ask you if you'd mind if I typed,
I did tell you that you could tell me if its quiet purr of clicks would bother your precious sleep
But I never felt a need to be concerned, because whenever I
was typing, I heard you snore, and whenever I was in the heights of
some new discovery or epiphany, your sharp sudden thunderstroke of near death
corrugated metal vibrating in the torrent of some sudden gale force gust of wind.

These were signs to me of your restful sleep.  So I simply didn't worry about your sleep.  I was certain that my electronic beeps were every now and then music to your ears, just as they were to mine.  This is because in the midst of these I heard you snore, and when you snored, I took you to be asleep.

Ah but then again, then again, these are fanciful constructions which simply say that what is wonderful for me should be just fine and dandy with you, at a bare minimum, and on those grounds of very unsymmetrical attitude about right and wrong I would have to begin my music tirade of words as well.  But I don't view justice and propriety along such selfish lines as these.

What I see is that duplicity is your thesis.  I have anecdotal accounts which are marvelous to behold first hand, but the details of the absurdities cannot be done justice in the language of men, for the intensity of such insanity can only be borne lightly by the frailest frayed ends of my sanity for having lived through your acoustically maddening inanity.

You didn't ever admit to me that my noises were not music to YOUR ears.  Indeed  you claimed never to be bothered by them because you never voiced up against them.  I suppose you might as well voice up against them in the street as well if it turns out not all of you snorers-go-a-viking types like to hear my mouse clicking away like a tapping noises on a metal plate in your skull.  Sorry if it is another non-snorer-who-must-stay-up-late-and-so-be-occupied person whose nocturnal joys were misinterpreted as direct assaults on the dignity, spirit, or just basic mental viability of your wounded snoremonster troop of anti-late-stayer-uppers, because in fact, we used to be sleep-at-night-entities like you, but that was before you showed up, thoracic marching band in tow.  Marching bands are musical also, to some people.  And for some all hours of the night are perfect for a marching band.  Who am I to tell them otherwise.  

Well let me know the next time a marching band is given special permit to come through your neighborhood at night, and I'll be glad to point out to you the first Snorer'sville, because only they should be expected, in all justice to live with the macroscopic manifestation of their personal narcissistic paradises.

Let you all go to your own place and form your own nation, and see if you can consistently demand everyone else find music in your ****** and accursed racket!  But until then I expect some of you will have to take the damage returned by the growing number of people who are very much tired of living under the horrors of your infliction upon us, your demonic and evil tyranny of mind-crushing hate that is your ****** noise.  We will do yoga and breathe, and stretch, and some light calesthenics to relax and seek some focus and composure, whenever our spirits require, and this will be unchallenged by you so long as you are asleep, and it will be unchallenged by you so long as you are awake too.  For in the latter case you are already awake (and so still are we, usually) while in the former case it is far quieter than your snoring, both in its valleys and peaks.  And moreover it has not kept you up, but in fact I have noted that you wake yourself up with your own music when it reaches a certain crescendo.  

Unless you want to say that those crescendos are some sort of involuntary complaint about MY crescendos of spirit, when I start typing about 20% faster than normal, with perfect focus and accuracy while reaching an aesthetic pleasure approaching ****** as I realize that it is almost unerringly in the midst of such an experience that I hear your crescendo resound. And since it was no more intended to be a distraction for me, then surely my music must have also gone undetected by your ears, as well as your spirit. Or is it fairer to say it was the very cause of your crescendo, or at least its inspiration?

Therefore I needn't worry that it is I that is keeping you up, even if for only brief stints at a time, especially by comparison to my all-night vigils.  Not so, but it is you who are so enraptured by my occasional laughs or giggles as I edify my weary, sleep-deprived mind on some bit of morale boosting entertainment.  With headphones on of course.  It's also courteously plugged into the computer to prevent my favorite bit of Judas Priest from hurting your ear drums, or else overstimulating your music appreciation centers, which are verily attached to your ear-drums by a nerve bundle (and what nerve you all have there).  This means I've spared you too much distraction from any already-abundant music of the spheres effect you may be savoring which might have emanated from my bumbling around in the dark (to keep the lights out of course, after all people are sleeping).

Yes but that is a minority of you perhaps, who would lie about that and in fact who ought to say that our nocturnal emissions are not what you'd call restfully mind-relaxing crickets in the dead of night with an occasional hoot in the distance...  But they are a minority, the rest of you are so definitely in good faith.

But then why do I always run into those of your tribe who have strange and unethical habits, such as destroying others' lives by ruining their one perhaps most preciously personal and inalienable need second only to air and water, and that is sleep.  It is, in terms of acute necessity, in many ways more needed than food, though in the long term food catches up.  But food catches up only because not eating food is a  lot like not getting sleep, but just a lot more intense on the body when it drops to some critical point because we know from experience it is on raw nerves that we can go for a while in search of food, but if the food can't be found (perhaps because of our lack of sleep ruining our cognition in some way), then we will not eat, nor sleep, because we'll be dead.  

But either way, we'll be dead, for lack of sleep kills, both directly and indirectly, if suffered over a short time and/or in a diluted form over a long time.  That would be poetically commensurate to the sadistic similitude of the types of snoring sounds with the types of ways to die from being deprived of sleep according to two modes (acute and chronic), over many keys of incident, accident, lost opportunity and ill-stared fate, all of which can be mapped in some way back to that auditory persecution of our very souls of which your kind are in some swelling numbers quite proud.  Just think of all the car accidents, work accidents, altercations, fits of rage, inability to concentrate well or sometimes at all, and other life-damaging conditions of the mind, and also of the body, which accrue from lack of proper and healthy sleep at night!

Good thing for most of you though, right?  Because surely our music is also sweet, and I really hope I've inspired many to face this need for equality, and be on their guard against any unjust whining or groaning from those who seem in point of fact to value their sleep just a good deal more than they value anyone else's.  Not only because they really really love to get those zzz's but because they think that in the natural order of things, before people suddenly went mad and evil, people went to bed and slept well even partly BECAUSE of this brachio-esophageal orchestral lullaby.

But we'll be on our guard against those complaints, because we know you have plotted to take to the streets against us to defend your noisiness-all-night-every-night rights.  So we'll be on guard to defend ours, TO THE LAST FIBER OF OUR BEING.

Because you insufferable ******* are cruel, and cruelty no one should abide.  No one in my world, in my society of people, will be allowed to inflict cruelty on another person, nor be callously prejudicial in their own favor when injuries do occur because of their actions merely on the grounds that the damage it causes coincides with the fulfillment of a need on their own part, even while that fulfillment is of a need which is obstructed from satisfaction in the other part, and by THAT VERY SAME REASON, so that your sleep depends on keeping others awake.  UNLESS you can somehow con or coerce them into developing some form of Stockholm Syndrome and confuse the torment you inflict upon them with a sign of your love and wonderfulness to be around.

Yes, I know you hear me typing now, through your well-behaved proxy.  I feel it. If not he per se, then in a parallel universe not too far off, there's a version of him who does.  Perhaps not the one I know now, on day one of having moved into this room, but perhaps one represented in this universe by someone who has found himself in some sort of circumstances found later on during his stay, this mixed with the fact that familiarity breeds contempt... He'll start making some righteous demands of some kind, and I might not be in a such a good mood about that due to lack of proper sleep, and this will coincide with said contumacy against my own rights (such as to breathe, type, surf the net, or do other nocturnal things other than snoring which might keep others up).

As to that last point in parentheses, snoring is an activity which you perform in conjunction with your getting sleep, and it therefore means not well for your notion of fairness to say things as they are, and simply say the truth, which is that your getting sleep deprives others of theirs, but it can be logically deduced.

It can also be logically deduced that the don't give flying **** if you don't like the fact that we don't like your ear-**** night after night, which is a good name as any, but should perhaps at times be amended to body-demolishing soul-****** of a mortally sinful nature, and with an ethical incongruity to good character of a person to maintain it, all the more to sings its praises to us and call it "good poetry".
My tirade is intended to be expressive of a sincerely felt Truth, manifested in this which is only one of many forms, where things are never neutral, but divided neatly and perfectly into either Good or evil, so that no thought, word, or deed can be trivialized as mundane, neither in its innate import nor in its exported impact for others.  This is of the essence of ethics and has many metaphysical groundings which can be rationally demonstrated, but only to rational people.
There's no way out
It's too late, now that I've found you
Caught beneath a falling cloud
I'm drenched in love when I'm around you

Don't make a sound
Or let the noisiness compound you
Wading through the drawing crowd
Dressed for those who might surround you

Bring me back to somber days
When you were there to light my way
Like a mid noon cabaret
You give my world a needed change
Now that all the dues are paid
I'm not afraid
To sing your serenade

Icy breath snatches my tongue
Holding on to thoughts about you
Await the rays of morning sun
That melt away the nights without you

Take me back to yesterday
When you were there to light my way
Tomorrow's only years away
With time to blend the shades of gray
And still I see
The way you look at me
When I sing your serenade
Lyrics in song form to a tune for guitar & voice.
Monika Aug 2016
he covers you with his body and his hands like he wants you to disappear from the rest of the world. he says he wants to keep you all to himself, that he wants to be the only one to really see all of you but you think that maybe he just wants you to be invisible. he wants to make you small, to quiet you down and keep you hidden so that you don’t have the chance to be yourself. he doesn’t understand that you were born to be as big as a galaxy, that sometimes you think your soul is too big to fit inside your own body and sometimes you need to let it out. you think about making your way to a different planet, one that’s far away from him and those hands that restrict you but you’re so vehement; you’re not sure anyone will love you and your noisiness.
Loki Dec 2015
I was in the middle of my nonsense story.
When suddenly a name got me,
It starts with letter "P" ends with "A"
I thought it was just nothing,
But then, it turned out to be something
What caught my eyes is your beauty inside,
Heart warming smiles makes me stop and stare for a while.
I don't know what makes you so different,
You can even turn my noisiness into a deafening silence. This is not an exaggeration, I just couldn't describe my imagination.
When it comes to you my mind reaches its limitation. Feels like i'm having a delirium,
Even things in motion, comes to their point of
equilibrium.
You are filled with humility and kindness,
But i don't know why sometimes it is altered by sadness.
I hope this poem could give you a little happiness, Cause you are the one who cures my loneliness.
I'm totally overthinking as i wrote this poem, I couldn't say anything but you're simply amazing.
I wrote this poem for just one aim, I want you to know that you are worth more than anything.
My first poem.
Oscar Mann Feb 2018
I was walking in the landscape
Of my crowded mind
Surrounded by noisiness
And poisonous commotion

Until I found a place
And peace of mind
A sphere of silence
Like a dome inside my head

But to hear nothing
And to see nothing
Is to be left alone
With anything the mind conjures up

With brooding thoughts
And troubling doubts
Surrounded by clouds
And self-inflicted commotion

The sound of silence
Is the best thing around
Until it becomes too loud

And when it becomes too loud
There is no doubt
That I begin to long for sound
Again
Cyclical
hannashe Jun 2018
The wind bring me down
A lone on the land
In a mess, thouch by the rain
Tremble in the coldness
Creates loneliness
On the noisiness roof...
Payton Apr 2020
I wake up, it's April 1st
It should be like any other April 1st,
the weather shifting from cold to warm, to cold, as Mother Nature cannot make up her mind just yet
Green stems peeking out from under soft soil, damp from the rain before sunrise
sound filling the air is of sweet blue jays and the occasional hummingbird buzzing by
Children down the street are drawing on the sidewalk with brightly colored chalks, while their parents talk about Easter plans
A sense of excitement, of new beginnings as the winter blues melted away with the snow
But today is not that April 1st.
I'm woken by hail, pounding down on this rusted cabin roof
The air is stale and weighs heavy in my lungs
the birds are bustling about as usual, but instead of sweet melodies, I'm irritated at their noisiness
No sign of children playing,
no sign of parents making weekend plans
When my eyes finally do catch another person
Its fear and uncertainty filling their eyes
it's wearing a mask so they don't breathe in the same air as I
it's wearing tightly fitted gloves on both hands
It's the strong stench of disinfectant we both bathed in prior to stepping out our own door
It's locking eyes, not from an beautiful human connection, but in pleads to keep your distance
It's a world I do not recognize
all remnants of a different time, all dreams, and all futures have been stashed away
put in a box and shoved under a bed for safe keeping
praying tomorrow we can dig them back out,
dust them off,
and the world we remember will come pouring out of them

— The End —