Slam Poem: The World’s Pretty Crazy After All

The following is a poem that I never got the opportunity to perform when slam poet Philip Wilcox visited our school, since I left the day before the event to attend an orchestra festival in Doha. I penned this (final?) draft on March 11, 2016, and it is appearing now for the first time on public domain.

This is a celebration of all the things we don’t know.

I

Not to sound cliche, but I sometimes sit and wonder
How long it would take for me to walk around the world
How many drops are in the ocean
Does a blade of grass feel our tread
What are the colors not invented yet
And what it feels like to be you.
We can’t find this out by instinct
Nor textbooks either, for life
Is all too little to comprehend
Itself, so what do we do?

II

We have this sensation we call sound
Described as fuzzy, rich, or round
It’s how I believe I’m talking to you
And why you believe you’re hearing me
But all it really is, is really
Rapid oscillations at things we call frequencies
They’re how conductors make their living
Coaxing melodies out of strings
Now if we were to take away this air
We’d be out of a medium real fast
Silent as a grave we could fire cannons
And you’d never hear the boom
But if we boomed the atom bomb
You see it’s not the explosion but
The sound, the sound that would kill you
The music to our ears with the capacity for death
Death! It’s the unavoidable fact of life
Why we make so much of it has often crossed my mind
If it’s going to happen anyway
Why stand here and wait with jeebies
When we could scrape the blue off the sky?
When we could scrape the blue off the sky?

III

When you break things down things get real scary
Curiosity left the cat both dead and alive
Turns out everything has many many holes
And fire is nothing but falling electrons
Nothing that we can see we can be sure, and though
We become what we believe, what we believe is us!
There’s more things living in your room than humans
And there’s more stars than grains of sand
Everything you’ve ever known
Is laughable to the mass of the sun
Who’s tiny? Asks the universe
Not me! Says infinite

IV

Since we’re inescapably tiny and disturbingly huge
We’re crazy enough to forget it
Except for some of us who dream
See we’ve got ink and we’ve got blood
But no amount of fluid will be enough
To fill the vacuum that’s out there
So we paint illusions and build tools
In hopes that we won’t feel alone
The world’s pretty crazy after all
And the sane ones in it are no better
We’re all in it together

We’re in it together

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Gloria Sun 2016.

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