A Poem by Donsin raziel

I was reading something called "Cuil Theory". It gave me a pretty bad headache, and I decided I wanted to share that experience with everyone.

You ask for pasta. I gave you a bowl awhile back. You smile and drown it in parmesan. Your foot starts to tap. You hear gasps and cheers around a tree where a crowd has gathered. You look at your bowl and think about your life. You ask for pasta. You struggle to slurp your noodles down. The pasta is still on your fork. You look at me and I smile all the while. A man lets his dog loose in the park. The forks tines start to plink in harmony. You ask for pasta. You look for my face but, can't find it in your haze. The man climbs the tree singing a merry tune. You ask for pasta. You hum louder and louder as you shovel down the pasta, never making a dent. You try to talk but I raise a twig to your lips to silence you. You hear festive music and a grand calamity. You ask for pasta. The tree sways in the wind as you hang on for balance. You look for me in the crowd. Everyone's eyes are the sun, each blink is a year gone by. Their smiles are the stars. Their voices are the sound of the beginning and the end.  Your song is drowned out by the chants of encouragement. You suck down an never ending noodle. I run back to you, now an old mutt. You ask for pasta. You drop from the tree with a snap and become a bowl. The chants grow louder. The crowd becomes a galaxy, infinitely expanding. A man sits down. He asks for pasta. You serve pasta.

© 2016 Donsin raziel

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on January 5, 2016
Last Updated on January 10, 2016
Tags: Cuil, Theory, noodles


Donsin raziel
Donsin raziel

Im just a guy that likes solving other peoples problems. more..


Advertise Here
Want to advertise here? Get started for as little as $5