On "Reading Poetry"

Nine in the morning, he simply exists

Sitting in class, another point is missed

In a mist of disinterest that consists

(of fear)

Nine in the morning, he's loathe to see

The value in anyone else's speech

Hell he won't even listen to Teach

(the fool)

Nine in the morning, He hears only his words

Deafening his world like Van Gogh's swords

Shaving 'ere or there Beethoven's chord

(too sharp)

Nine in the morning, she invites him in

To the world of her words an alien

Landscape his world redefining

(broken words)

Nine in the morning, she ensnares

Him with rhetoric and the loveliest scares

While a silent outsider solemnly stares

(behind a mask)

Nine in the morning, the thoughts of a stranger

Written on paper in ink the color of danger

Speaks of the desperate him and the vain her

(a dream)