A poem written during a philosophy lecture:
The chair, once burdened with his bulk
Sits idle now, seemingly twiddling its thumbs,
The chair once new and gleaming -
Glossy pine wood, proudly gleaming night and day,
The new-new smell, it cast a spell,
The flowers on lillie's bound to fore mentioned pine,
The strength, the stability.
The strong, the sturdy chair.
The man who once laboured to extract himself from the deteriorating chair,
Now lays bedridden unable to even twiddle his thumbs.
The man once young and strong -
Glowing ebony skin,
Strapped onto bulging life,
Impatient life that hates to toil yet thrives in it,
The jet black foliage that caresses his limbs and torso.
The youth,the strength,
The beauty, the poetry,
That was the man.
The man, the chair companions in life,
Who now part in death.
The chair, the man both worn and old now,
Await the eye of the fates to turn on them,
The chair, who's beauty can be refurbished
Sighs as it is hoisted up and taken away,
The old man views this and sighs himself,
As life once strapped, escapes the now loose glowing ebony.
http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/3992455?uid=3739368&uid=2129&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&sid=47698916459807A poem written because for a good two hours I knew nothing and felt like nothing, and for ten seconds I knew all I needed to know and knew there was more to know and felt overwhelming strength and inspiration.
The chair, once burdened with his bulk
Sits idle now, seemingly twiddling its thumbs,
The chair once new and gleaming -
Glossy pine wood, proudly gleaming night and day,
The new-new smell, it cast a spell,
The flowers on lillie's bound to fore mentioned pine,
The strength, the stability.
The strong, the sturdy chair.
The man who once laboured to extract himself from the deteriorating chair,
Now lays bedridden unable to even twiddle his thumbs.
The man once young and strong -
Glowing ebony skin,
Strapped onto bulging life,
Impatient life that hates to toil yet thrives in it,
The jet black foliage that caresses his limbs and torso.
The youth,the strength,
The beauty, the poetry,
That was the man.
The man, the chair companions in life,
Who now part in death.
The chair, the man both worn and old now,
Await the eye of the fates to turn on them,
The chair, who's beauty can be refurbished
Sighs as it is hoisted up and taken away,
The old man views this and sighs himself,
As life once strapped, escapes the now loose glowing ebony.
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