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Joy Cyliner X

Sitting at my desk one day, I felt a curious feeling:
A burst of rapturous energy inside, from floor to ceiling.

My feet began to tingle and my heart began to race.
And a smile of amazement found its home upon my face.

“That’s it,” I thought, “I’ve reached capacity. So this is joy.
“I don’t remember this from, even, when I was a boy.
“I feel like a surfer who has learnt to ride the foam.”
All my cylinders are full. I think I have come home.

“You’ve reached capacity?” came an old familiar voice.
‘Capacity’ is limitless if that will be your choice.
"If you choose you’re like the Tardis of your famous Dr Who,
"You can see there’s room for yet another cylinder in you."

And without another word I felt a white electric bolt;
It struck me at the head and made the things inside me jolt.
A cylinder descended for the eyes of none to see,
And it slotted in beside the other cylinders in me.

“Here you are, then: Ready to decode your every vector
“With a filter that is built to harvest joy as bees do nectar.
“The nectar fills the cylinders which radiate, when full,
“The micro-code instructions to oppose the downward pull.

“That is all for now.” And there was silence. That was it.
I took a moment, then, and I took it just to sit:
So bees make nectar; joy’s infectious. I am Dr Who.
And if you’re reading this, you have a Tardis in you too.

Bring on the joy!

23rd June 2013 ©Simon Welsh Poetry
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