Be as harsh and SPECIFIC as u can guys because my deadline is soon and I really want this to stand out. so this is my question prompt:
Susan Sontag, AB'51, wrote that "ilence remains, inescapably, a form of speech." Write about an issue or a situation when you remained silent, and explain how silence may speak in ways that you did or did not intend. The Aesthetics of Silence, 1967.
Silence in the air-not even the slightest cricket to accompany,
The microscopic particles of the swifting dust,
Twirl and curl like tiny catapillars.
Far, far away, trapped in my small skull,
Severed from the world by thee I am.
Now, as I lay dormant, does the vision fade.
Now, while the ticks and tocks of Time,
Prattling down in their torturous progression, does the vision decimate.
So why do your muscles refuse to stretch?
My speedy neurons having no rest
Are sent out again and again and again.
But sadly pierced and still you stay,
In times more peculiar,
And more strange.
Of course thy self is not always this way,
My requests are usually met.
Though,
While the tides or life crash and stir,
Millions of tiny bubbles sizzle and crackle,
Talking to me.
Words, which have destroyed the brightest of minds,
And imprisoned the truest of hearts,
Can also produce golden dreams,
And hopes of the beyond.
Because of this I can never cease to speak.
Then did I learn something.
Myself is against the rocky shores and endless sea
How, if not me, shall the depth and passion
Of my deepest chambers be ever known to fly?
To surge up and down and around again.
Free in the air-the blue sky open and fresh.
Oh how tempting that is!
But, at times, you lay a rusted cage before me,
Where strains of voice and tone, can give up alone.
It is when a sea of unfamiliar faces linger before me,
They crowd, they hover.
Their eyes stare, and dare,
The lightest blues, the darkest browns, the rarest greens,
That soon even my neurons are powerless to stop thee.
All my self's likes, dislikes, ideas, opinions and such
Lay still in the grave.
Thy pale lips are cold,
Frozen.
I want to thee to speak.
To yell.
To scream.
To sing the highest loooooos and laaaaaaaas.
I'm one among billions,
One that has a chance
To carve my own road
Scrape by scrape by scrape.
Thyself and I can push the vision
Into the farthest doors it can go,
Otherwise it would lay victim to the scarred palms of fate.
Always,
Your Brain
(I'm trying to portray how I am really open about my ideas and opinions about everything, but there are those moments where I am silent about what I think, what do u guys think?)
Susan Sontag, AB'51, wrote that "ilence remains, inescapably, a form of speech." Write about an issue or a situation when you remained silent, and explain how silence may speak in ways that you did or did not intend. The Aesthetics of Silence, 1967.
Silence in the air-not even the slightest cricket to accompany,
The microscopic particles of the swifting dust,
Twirl and curl like tiny catapillars.
Far, far away, trapped in my small skull,
Severed from the world by thee I am.
Now, as I lay dormant, does the vision fade.
Now, while the ticks and tocks of Time,
Prattling down in their torturous progression, does the vision decimate.
So why do your muscles refuse to stretch?
My speedy neurons having no rest
Are sent out again and again and again.
But sadly pierced and still you stay,
In times more peculiar,
And more strange.
Of course thy self is not always this way,
My requests are usually met.
Though,
While the tides or life crash and stir,
Millions of tiny bubbles sizzle and crackle,
Talking to me.
Words, which have destroyed the brightest of minds,
And imprisoned the truest of hearts,
Can also produce golden dreams,
And hopes of the beyond.
Because of this I can never cease to speak.
Then did I learn something.
Myself is against the rocky shores and endless sea
How, if not me, shall the depth and passion
Of my deepest chambers be ever known to fly?
To surge up and down and around again.
Free in the air-the blue sky open and fresh.
Oh how tempting that is!
But, at times, you lay a rusted cage before me,
Where strains of voice and tone, can give up alone.
It is when a sea of unfamiliar faces linger before me,
They crowd, they hover.
Their eyes stare, and dare,
The lightest blues, the darkest browns, the rarest greens,
That soon even my neurons are powerless to stop thee.
All my self's likes, dislikes, ideas, opinions and such
Lay still in the grave.
Thy pale lips are cold,
Frozen.
I want to thee to speak.
To yell.
To scream.
To sing the highest loooooos and laaaaaaaas.
I'm one among billions,
One that has a chance
To carve my own road
Scrape by scrape by scrape.
Thyself and I can push the vision
Into the farthest doors it can go,
Otherwise it would lay victim to the scarred palms of fate.
Always,
Your Brain
(I'm trying to portray how I am really open about my ideas and opinions about everything, but there are those moments where I am silent about what I think, what do u guys think?)
