Member Poem

The once breathtaking scenario,
The once blossoming field of flowers,
The once enchanting view,
Has been swallowed Ninety five percent by a flood,
Of tears and beauty,
Of fervency of heart and scribblings,
The pen writes away at the unending flow,
A tireless flow generated from point zero
Of a lovely union,
Drawn to the minuses on the number line,
Cancelled out by plus one minus one,
Dry up the overwhelming flood,
Yet when vessel stands within heart-sight,
The pen vomits infinitesimally,
And volumes tied to this vessel fill almost to the brim
Accounting for ninety five percent of entire fill.
Understanding stands shielded as a whole number,
But revelation is decimally yielded to minds that listen,
Only to minus outspokenness from the algorithm.
Inspire ninety five percent of flow,
Only to ponder quietly, equal to a habitual silence,
A caution that represents an improper fraction,
Leading to a differentiation of hunger,
Hugging tightly an integral most dreaded,
Ninety five percent dreaded.