The presence of Noise

March 29, 2011
By Tim Zulf BRONZE, Bethesda, Maryland
Tim Zulf BRONZE, Bethesda, Maryland
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Sitting in my room
In a presence tranquil
Like a fetus in a womb
I am propelled forward without a paddle

And as I am brought out
From my cogitation
I lament about
The thinking man’s castration

Here lie the remains of Kant’s vitals
Here rests the residue of the noumenon
Never through an echelon of titles
Would one bear understanding of phenomenon

The presence of noise is filling
Shaking the institutions of mind
The feeling of which is chilling
Burying intellect behind

In a fearful wake of disturbance
I leave my concentration behind
As I am lost in a an air of peturbance
No longer can the conscious find

The underlying manifestation of truth
That escapes my wavering gaze
As I fall from my meditating booth
And am left in a confusing maze

It makes me think of the porter
Lashing his whip away
As loud as the fire of mortar
All throughout the day

And the carter is outside with his whip
And it lashes away these thoughts
To where I can no longer equip
Any study which haughts

The nature of my being
Which brings me to hatred of these
Beasts of Burden I’m seeing
That bring more disgrace than Antigones

So all these plebeians outside
Which pump anger in my vein
Behind their veils hide
To escape the fate of slain

And if I were to betide
Power over their brain
I should produce inside
A rhetoric more tame

But as I look at my television
I know this cannot be
For they lack any vision
Yell at what they cannot see

Like this aspiring politician
Led by circumstance
To yell at his opponent to submission
In a primal dance

He screams of liberal reforms
Like the man opposite him
And sound so misinformed
At best seeming dim

He yells at his driver
He yells at loudly thrice
He yells till there’s n o survivor
And at everything nice

He yells at his wife
and at his kids
He screams through his life
Till they can hear him in Madrid

And then he grow old
And still screams just as loud
But they are untold
Because they are caught in a shroud

Of others yelling like him
In sea of irrelevance
With capricious whim
Devoid of intelligence

And the product of these toils
Will bear no effect you see
But be thought of as foils
That have only annoyed me

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