My first guest blogger: Eden
It is 12:30 am. Cookies for a class something or other are out of the oven. We rise at 5:30 for school. We have ridden through waves of sillies, grumpies, hostilities, now finishing off with peace. Some days are just like this.
When she asked me to read her poem for her physical science class, I felt a deeper pull than I could have imagined. What is life but the choice to be or not be solid? 🙂
To be a solid, or not to be–that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The vibrating in place of closely packed particles
Or to take arms against the indefinite shape of liquids
And by opposing become them. For tightly packed particles, or bouncing off particles
No more–and by bouncing off I mean to say that gasses have enough energy to overcome attracted forces until hitting walls or other particles
The gasses, can be compressed or expanded
which solids and liquids cannot. ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To be solid, to be gas–
To be liquid–perchance to be all at once: ay, there’s the lie,
For in that solid of particles what repeating patterns may come
we have called Crystalline solids and have shuffled off no definite structure to be called Amorphous solids
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the viscosity in liquid of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, it describes how well liquid flow’s
The slightly sliding of the liquid particles
The definite volume
That patient merit of th’ indefinite shape
When he himself might his choice make
With a gas instead? Who would not choose this lifestyle,
To explain warm and cold air rising and falling and no definite volume under a weary life,
But that the dread of gas and its smell,
Thus gas does make smelly particles of us all,
The plasma matter, from whose bourn
traveller’s collide and strip atoms of their electrons
the gas-like positive and negative particles return, and puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those solids, gasses, and liquids we have
Than be at a high temperature and energy level
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their particles turn awry
And lose the name of action. I choose solids.
Life as Improv 
Wow.
Funny perspective – on the way to the bus stop, I was talking about the metaphor in the poem and she said there wasn’t any metaphor – it was all in my head 🙂 Nice to see you. I hope you are flowing along well!
Fabulous!
🙂
Ms Eden,
I read and float with the piece, within the piece, into a vapor contained space found in the sky somewhere inside my head. Then words hit the top of my skull and freeze solid in their motion for a moment. Frozen still. Then they begin the process of raining down in their many layered meanings available.
STUNNING WORK.
Makes this person (who has a few more years physically on the planet, years only meaning that there has been additional fluffing* from time to time after more good meals 🙂 ) heart happy to see such power in 15. Rock it girl. Keep rocking it and helping us make it back all the way home to the shifting solid ground.
Much awe and love,
-x.Maren
*what my father made us call bodily gases as he did not like the word F*A*R*T . I think these days it could be f-art lol
Oh wow hah thanksss. Haha I just wrote it in like 10 minutes..didn’t know it would appeal to people for more than my own purpose of writing it. Glad it turned you into different phases of matter! EXCITING!
-Eden