Poetry: Collection #1

A Simple Sound

You might find it strange,

You'd say it doesn't make much sense,

If I told you that the music that you heard was more intense,

Than your life compacted down,

Into a couple grains of rice.

And then expanded to a parachute that safely touches down.

The Commune

Look around, and feel your surroundings.

Let it seep,

As it lingers,

Let it run between your fingers.

Look at your neighbor and

Know his name.

Shake his hand!

And maybe then you'll understand.

Breathe

Do not run.

Do not run o'r the hills and valleys.

Why must I run to appease?

May I not reach my destination with breath to spare?

Foul Language

Foul language must be the most impolite of them all,

This information based upon my social protocol,

When demonstrating cuss words in an incorrect context,

Hearing all this hoopla makes me feel rather perplexed.

When all those nasty words combine and thrust me to the floor,

All the children scream just about seventy-two more!

When all this bad and madness,

Is over with and through,

I will merely let about an exclamated "Wooh!"

A Part

I click the little button that can turn on all the lights,

And crawl so sound and slow across the floor.

I'm sliding through the kitchen and I hang a sudden right,

And tightly grip onto the bathroom door.

I rise up calm and cool and then I look into the glass,

And see a twisted face that lacks a heart.

I scream so loud and fast no one hardly hears a sound,

And neatly comb my hair into a part.

I can't bring myself to say that we're apart.

It pierces through my cold and lifeless heart.

Beginnings

Why must we begin?

Cannot we take the time to truly know who we are?

Where we come from?

Where we stand?

We must reverse our hierarchy of needs,

Because by the time we reach the top,

We're probably already dead.

Or almost dead.