Poem:  

NOISE

What is the point of the noise?  The noise that I have learnt to listen for.  It consumes my mind yet it is forever foreign.  

I strive to make it yet can never control it.  That which I fear and yet hold near.

Noise is the STUFF in life.  It burdens me.  It makes me dizzy.  Yet I am frightfuly unstable without it.

Should I run or fight?  Fear criples my mind, yet my soul cries fly. 

By: Michael Brown