Unlikely Sources of Poetic Inspiration
I actually wrote this during my first semester as a freshman, a lowly general chemistry student struggling with the unit on thermodynamics. I was not yet initiated into the College of Chemistry: I had not experienced the euphoric high of succeeding at an organic chemistry synthesis problem after six hours; neither had I arrived at the current sobbing, screaming, unhinging lows of physical chemistry. It occurs to me, however, that while this piece is not particularly lyrical or polished, it resounds now even more than it did two years ago. Note the splendidly bad pun in line 11.
Thermochemistry
Chem-turned-physics: a fiend I dare not face —
I fear the Gorgon and stare into space.
My energy sources hourly deplete
as this, in vain, I struggle to complete.
So, too, does the world's energy evolve
into the work that people do to solve
the other Medusas of problem sets —
question upon question that no one gets.
Energy is conserved, so heat is lost;
for work, the universe exacts a cost.
Each person's a joule, part of the treasure
we combust as fuel, but fail to measure:
We replenish fossil fuels with our own,
cracking chem even as we turn to stone.