I shared this when I first came on to the site, and wanted to repost it (i've edited slightly) -- I improved the title. You can skip to the poem or read my intro to it.
I was reading one of my communication text books and it defines communication in many terms. One accepted theory is that "Communication is oppression." I think this starts with the oppression of ideas -- if you don't coinside with the majority then you're written off. That can lead to the oppression of culture, and eventually the oppression of people.
Listen to the trees and stare through the dreams.
Burn holes through the seems of Charlotte's Web.
Turn down one more screaming whisper
While two more burning burdens turn up.
The willowing flowers start talking,
But the ruling bees do their silence walking.
For three tiny tip-toeing steps forward,
There's four more sea filled tears flowing.
The wind blowing; and only poets knowing
Zigzag, out of line, with only failures showing.
Now it's the other whispers screaming,
Napalm sticking, fear attracting, five committee beasts attacking.
See six sanctum sorrowed sneers watching
But there's no reacting. Courage retracting.
Because the willowing flowers start talking,
But the ruling bees do their silence walking.
Brightness shines it's rejuvinate head.
It's seven broken bones,
But eight far-reaching limbs.
Mistake ridden words from best interest friends.
No one understands, but then again, no one ever will.
Strike for the beating down bees with their stings.
It's been nine beat chest yards,
But ten thousand left to go.
The willowing flowers start talking,
But the ruling bees will always do their silence walking.
I'm always open to ideas and critiques. It's funny originally I started this poem not wanting it to rhyme
I was reading one of my communication text books and it defines communication in many terms. One accepted theory is that "Communication is oppression." I think this starts with the oppression of ideas -- if you don't coinside with the majority then you're written off. That can lead to the oppression of culture, and eventually the oppression of people.
Listen to the trees and stare through the dreams.
Burn holes through the seems of Charlotte's Web.
Turn down one more screaming whisper
While two more burning burdens turn up.
The willowing flowers start talking,
But the ruling bees do their silence walking.
For three tiny tip-toeing steps forward,
There's four more sea filled tears flowing.
The wind blowing; and only poets knowing
Zigzag, out of line, with only failures showing.
Now it's the other whispers screaming,
Napalm sticking, fear attracting, five committee beasts attacking.
See six sanctum sorrowed sneers watching
But there's no reacting. Courage retracting.
Because the willowing flowers start talking,
But the ruling bees do their silence walking.
Brightness shines it's rejuvinate head.
It's seven broken bones,
But eight far-reaching limbs.
Mistake ridden words from best interest friends.
No one understands, but then again, no one ever will.
Strike for the beating down bees with their stings.
It's been nine beat chest yards,
But ten thousand left to go.
The willowing flowers start talking,
But the ruling bees will always do their silence walking.
I'm always open to ideas and critiques. It's funny originally I started this poem not wanting it to rhyme
