Hi so I literally just wrote this poem five minutes ago, but I would really appreciate some feedback and criticism. Its called "static" Stories are never static. The world, as it heaves Breaths of life into souls, Is not static. But rather it is a cascading whirlwind Followed by a dull silence 'Til a dim buzz can Once again be heard. The world. Static in its involuntary dynamics In and out In and out A roar followed by a murmur, But the murmur builds, It always builds. So programmed am I To anticipate the life from the lifeless Just as the tiny droplets collect And form furious arches Curling into themselves Too far. Until they scatter Into nothingness Once again. Though the reversion not pleasant, I'd much rather the break If I may just taste for a moment The build The arch Instead of this static And my love lying waste.