Wednesday, March 9, 2011

B is for Selection

Filling an ipod with sounds
That cannot
Be heard

It gets lost in the throng of thongs and misguided dreams
It gets hustled and hurried by a swift sound and a honking car
Yet it fights
It fights hard and long to keep up its own song

The mind will act as its own receiver
Raising its volume so that the listener can hear
So that the listener can be pleased

Is it all in vain?
The simply profound sounds of the sound, filled in an ipod
All because
The external will not silence
And the internal will not zone out.

Is it all in vain?
And dare I ask…

Who’s fault is it anyways?
The ipod, limited voice, desperately raised in the ear of man
Or the programmer, who continues to place such soft sweet tones

Added combat in a jungle concrete…
Tracy j H

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