B is for Selection

Filling an ipod with sounds

That cannot

Be heard

Too

Clearly.

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

Lost

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…

Selection

Tracy j H

08:03:11

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