The Panic of a Silenced Pandemonium: Chronicles of a New Mother a Poem

The pandemonium is the new serenate,

In the morning quiet time,

Around noon it always delivers the pandemonium never fails,

After that alarm goes off there is no stopping,

It goes to the roof,

and to the north,

and to the south,

In the restroom and even under the house,

Now is my time,

I'll use my sense,

to keep some order,

In this direction.

And then the warming sign comes in,

of absolutely no sound,

Truancy form the pandemonium,

and the panic.

So the search begins,

In the restroom,

under the house,

to the south,

and to the north,

No where is the old familiar pandemonium

And when the discovery is made,

This little pandemonium stares,

"Not me", it says,

And all my gel,

sits on my walls,

The blood rushes to my cheeks,

and all I do is count 1,2,3.

A poem by Michelle