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The Sound of Inner Torment
Christopher W. Thomas (tristram@erols.com)
dnb-as1s45.erols.com
Mon, June 16, 1997 at 6:37PM

It is beating inside like a little drum

The rage which rumbles sears as the sun
Beats down and beams its hot rays on us
As we consider options which pummel dust

Whose leavings are scattered by the wind
Over lawns, cars, drives, walls & things
Remnants which fly thru air and then land
Wherever they can stick to hair and hands

They get into our nose, mouths and eyes
Making us stuffed, and causing us to cry
What've we done to deserve this onslaught?
Why is it we've been so deliberately caught?

In sandstorms which've thrown up their ware
And mad scatterings of pollen too which dares
To immerse us in this wide blanket of clutter
Causing so many of us everywhere to just utter

Words of disdain and insolence to our friends
Those who've made US feel good and on the mend
Destroying all those wonderful warm blankets
Which covered us in security with thanks that

Gave back so much which satisfied us and them
And then this inner rage poured out to send
Negativity coming towards us fast and direct
Spearing us with its sharp points to reflect

The negative ions back upon their chuckers
Who so laced their words with such muck as
Sarcasm, insults, and much other insolence
We became so lost, offended by the instance

Pulling us away from the layers of debris
Which floated everywhere making us sneeze
So the tears which then streamed down faces
Gave witness to another feeling which embraces

Our hearts, our minds, our souls, our very being
Which these elements do cause us to stop seeing
And the flutter which so ruumbled within ourself
Finds solace in settled scatterings upon a shelf.

- Tristram