Friday, April 1, 2011


Fears take root young.
Fears take shape unsung.
Fear of roaches, fear of matches,
Fear of dreary corners,
And ghostly encounters,
But nothing beats the cold jitters,
That erupt when faced with stoic numbers.

Mother said "Numbers matter",
For they dominate every exchange hereafter.
Father said "Numbers yield power",
Shy away and be labelled slower.
Piled up peer pressure,
And divergent desire however,
Seal a steady decline into eternal numerical stammer.

The curling eights and sticky fours pick on the ego,
As fumbling attempts to command'em falter, turning you a zero.
Under their unrelenting gaze,
Stuck in a confounding maze,
Your only solace
Is to rush back from the chocking world of numbers
And find comfort conceding your fears in words.

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