Skip to content
Linespedia

Voice

By sweetbrother

Topics: Poetry Source: AllPoetry Original source

To even finely honed perceptions I am a phantom, just a cipher, a murmuring voice lost in the clamor of the street, a face as invisible as a breeze, trampled by hustling feet like a weed; even mikes and cameras don't detect me. Yet armed with pen and keyboard, my voice roars resonating through the corners of your mind dropping drenching storms on you. My moods whip across your conscienceness like bitter winter weather and though I might frighten or disgust you you will succumb to my seduction and I will leave you awakened and transformed. So, take heed to the random lost soul your eyes avoid on the streetl I am beautiful and treacherous if you dare to listen to my voice Written December 7th, 2001 © on Dec 07 2001 04:24 AM PST   0 • 10

AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.

About this line

"To even finely honed perceptions..."

Attribution & Rights

Author:sweetbrother

Source:AllPoetry

"To even finely honed perceptions..." by sweetbrother

For usage rights, copyright concerns, or to report an issue with this content, please visit our Copyright & Report page.

Related lines

"She wakes in still, wee hours in an ancient house that groans in restless sleep Just outside her window she hears the low sound of a breeze wrestling with the boughs of trees and nuzzling the surface..."

"I watched her dance on Beale Street, her long hair flipping in the breeze, slender limbs in constant motion as if worked by puppet strings in the hands of laughing gods I had seen her, just that day,..."

"Twenty-Second Streetgleams outside the windowcaffeinated musiccrushes the earthe young and beautifulchatter and relaxthe scene is all the way liveI am all the way aliveDupont Circle's ghostsdon't foll..."

"I see a young woman in a garden with sturdy, patient hands that nurture fragile growing things I see her eyes watching a chrysalis about to burst with life, then, the unfolding dewy wings of a delica..."

"She is a festival for my mind and eyes; I drink each drop of her satisfied, but wanting more I struggle to keep up with the quickness of her and the quickness of my pulse around her; she doesn't know..."

"She was my butterscotch flavored dream until she dreamt of me Then, I was her target for a river of abuse and I took it just so I could be close to her And now I see her, randomly on a subway train ..."

sweetbrother

About sweetbrother

Full Bibliography
Continue Reading

"She wakes in still, wee hours in an ancient house ..."

Weekly Poetic Insight

Join our literary Sanctuary

Get the most inspiring lines, poetic analysis, and secret shayaris delivered to your inbox every Sunday.