Alice Chy Mr. Francis Four Senses, awaken!

I slide the black bitter tea to feel The artificial surge of life that will eventually be my downfall But it is merely the mind that is awoke

EES86X6 Period 5

My ears are awakened As I can hear the melodic voice of the piano of the crazy neighbor down the hall, My eyes are awakened As the street lamplight spills through the poorly curtained windows, My nose is awakened As the week-old flowers are slowing reeking of death, The day at four, is delightfully alive With the man across the street, waiting for the bus since 3:35AM With the busy, countless cars that bump with the pothole that has been in the ground since I was five With the sporadic snoring of my dad With the whizz breath of the computer that is never powered off. How can I ever power something off that is? Where it is the tranquility of nature Where it is the harmony of Beethoven Where it is the asylum of the anonymous animosity Where it is the playground of the new generation Where it is the limitless archive of all information Of that fox hiding beneath the sycamore tree Of that girl I have not seen since the last day of June, 2008 Of the life of Ralph Waldo Emerson Of the past, present, and future Of this universe we live in But by that artificial box lies only the remains of everything Merely the specific captures of fleeting life I am satisfied with this ephemeral time Does he like this evanescent time too? He shyly looks away When I stare boldly at him Wondering what he thinks

Wondering how he does not part from my mind Wondering when either of us would have courage The life of animals seems a lot more humane than humanity does: Brutal honesty and no deception Pure interactions and lucid intentions Instinct decisions and simple reactions Writing this poem, I attempted to structure it as Walt Whitmans Song of Myself. His use of anaphora and