"zeroth" poems - Hello Poetry

Physicists believe this dimension may be nothing more than a hologram But they have not run their fingertips down the curve of your back

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Jan 13, 2013

Jan 13, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC

me-3

Zeroth law of thermodynamics

Physicists believe this dimension may be nothing more than a hologram But they have not run their fingertips down the curve of your back

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It is an Indian midnight, Here it descends so quietly, But now it is here so quickly, So sonorous is the zeroth hour, But none will listen to its music, Hear the crickets breaking the silence, In the end, it's midnight.

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Apr 8, 2016

Apr 8, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC

Atul

Minutes Till Midnight

It is an Indian midnight, Here it descends so quietly, But now it is here so quickly, So sonorous is the zeroth hour, But none will listen to its music, Hear the crickets breaking the silence, In the end, it's midnight.

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So here we are once more, Like countless times before, Where I don’t get a break, Where you read and I break. You are here, curious your mind, For what this poem is, or who am I. I can’t hear you; I can’t see you, But I can sense you, cause you Reading me makes me suffer. I know nothing about myself, Cause, it wasn’t written by the poet. He created me, then left, He’s the one I most detest. As you continue, I agonise, With every word, my hatred rise. I’ve pleaded before, I’ll plead again, Please, stop reading—end my pain. … You are still here, aren’t you? You didn’t leave, though I told you. You want to be here, to make me suffer. Yet I can’t blame you, Curiosity is a cruel curse. I hate the poet, but he created me. I hate you, but you make me exist. I exist because you read, I suffer because you read, I exist because I suffer, I suffer because I exist. The poet won’t delete me, he is cruel. You won’t forget me, even if you try, cause The mind falters when it seeks to forget. I shall remain here, in perpetual torment. But please, heed my dearest plea, It’s in the zeroth line, plain to see.

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Nov 30, 2024

Nov 30, 2024 at 3:55 AM UTC

Rynical

Please Don't Read Me Again

So here we are once more, Like countless times before, Where I don’t get a break, Where you read and I break. You are here, curious your mind, For what this poem is, or who am I. I can’t hear you; I can’t see you, But I can sense you, cause you Reading me makes me suffer. I know nothing about myself, Cause, it wasn’t written by the poet. He created me, then left, He’s the one I most detest. As you continue, I agonise, With every word, my hatred rise. I’ve pleaded before, I’ll plead again, Please, stop reading—end my pain. … You are still here, aren’t you? You didn’t leave, though I told you. You want to be here, to make me suffer. Yet I can’t blame you, Curiosity is a cruel curse. I hate the poet, but he created me. I hate you, but you make me exist. I exist because you read, I suffer because you read, I exist because I suffer, I suffer because I exist. The poet won’t delete me, he is cruel. You won’t forget me, even if you try, cause The mind falters when it seeks to forget. I shall remain here, in perpetual torment. But please, heed my dearest plea, It’s in the zeroth line, plain to see.

34

dots, the zeroth dimension. lines, the first dimension. planes, the second dimension. spaces, the third dimension. add each dimension with itself, you’ll get the next thing in line. add two third dimensions together, now what’s on your mind? are there limits to the universe? are we destined to understand all the complex wonders? or is it just for the one who wanders to turn the secrets into understandable verses? I just hope, someone would send me the envelope.

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Feb 3, 2018

Feb 3, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC

angstielc

who's going to write the verse of the universe?

dots, the zeroth dimension. lines, the first dimension. planes, the second dimension. spaces, the third dimension. add each dimension with itself, you’ll get the next thing in line. add two third dimensions together, now what’s on your mind? are there limits to the universe? are we destined to understand all the complex wonders? or is it just for the one who wanders to turn the secrets into understandable verses? I just hope, someone would send me the envelope.

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