A shallow breath,
A gentle tone,
Sustained,
Ringing out,
Calling the trees,
Whose ears bend to hear,
Subtle harmonies,
Growing,
Calling the hills,
Whose eyes close to hear,
More clearly,
The song,
Calling the earth,
Who stirs the sleeping seeds,
So they too,
Can hear,
The calling chimes,
Asking the world to smile,
As they resonate,
So easily,
And sing their metallic song.

Is in the taunt string and the bow
Sitting quietly with anticipation
Between recognition and the know
The strength of the aim
The tremble of loves arrows flow

The art of Death
Is in the curve of the wood
The polish of the shine
Intent accepted and understood

The art of death
The power of man
Five fingers taunt
A deep breath
The release from cold hands

Unsuspecting quarry was struck
Continuous practice of a cynical eye
Dull emotions of satisfaction
Fleeting moments of regret
A small sigh

The art of death
Is in the taunt string and the bow
Waiting quietly
Between the recognition and the know

Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby  3/4/2016

Numbers flying,
Filling my head,
When digits aren't the answer,
But words instead,
When randomness is ordered,
And certainty is dead,
When structure is creative,
And poems left unsaid,
Because numbers are not lifeless,
They're just waiting to be read.

There is more truth around my neck
than there is in my whole body.

And scratched into the clasp
are the marks of honesty.

And clinging to the velvet
is a whisper of who I could be.

But the lump in my throat,
the way my shoulders stretch out
a little too far away from my flat chest
and my hips don't quite fit
the way I want to walk.

Your eyes see body first,
Truth second.

A tapping, almost regular.
Close enough to even space between each,
tick tick tick
of some broken clock.

Each beat pulls my mind,
searching for a rhythm to match
the pulse of my unsteady soul.

tick tick tick... tick-tick
...tick tick tick
Confusing, yet constant,
and still my heart tries to keep time.

tick-tick-tick...tick...tick

Until time is nothing,
Minutes and seconds are meaningless
when that last tick sounds.

Another deadline ends
in me dead along the line,
hanging from the line,
that kept me alive.

There's no community spirit
when community needs spirits
to keep people in good spirit,
rather than smiles.

Why am I future planning
when my whole future is planning
for the next day to start planning
my life?

Those nights,
they replay on the cassette tape
that runs through my plastic heart.

And as I listen I am pulling
until the memories
are ripped and torn apart.

And what is left gets put together
in the wrong order
and gets tangled around my veins.

Until not a single second means anything,
but sadness, tears
and confusion still remain.

And now just a single sound
is looped again
and again in darker shades.

So I'll listen to my old screams
and wait for the new ones (on a compact disc) to form.