She Broke My Sound Barrior Poem by richard ilnicki

The sound barrier of her silence
shattered the hemisphere.
Her decibels cracked the sky
like a machete the coconut,
rupturing logic and the need to know.
Gravity had been neutralized by her voice,
and men were now walking on air
happily playing wind chasing fools
in love with her echo,
but when she passed right by me
things were much different.
I resembled a poor excuse of a man,
a milquetoast man
whose feet had been glued to the pavement by fear.

Living beneath the lamp post hat in hand
I'd become an historical shadow,
a pitiful impotent hollow bang.
Her voice violently vibrated my eardrums
leaving trickles of blood running
down the sides of my broken cheeks.
Her sonic boom shocked me back
to the reality of my voracious self,
a yellow lonely man without a backbone
who was far too ugly to be loved
even just for the sound of his hungry voice,
a dry, desperate, rasping sound
which had been bruised, broken and buried alive.

Left for dead I'd become a worthless fossil
living hand to mouth
among other decaying poets, orphans
whistling through their punctured windpipes
to the painful sound of ruptured eardrums.