But I'm probably just rambling to air at this point.
No matter how prolific,
no matter how deep,
or even insignificant,
every utterance is reduced to a shallow
on a computer somewhere worlds away.
And then would I recall days of yesteryears
when the words were caressed only by silence,
a silence punctuated only by soft verbal utterances,
not the rapid, vapid tap tap tap of a keyboard
signalling some electrons to send a message out
to another island suspended in the
v a s t spanse of silence that exists.
It existed then and exists now.
At least some things do not change.
they do not seem to when steeped in the moment.
Like tea filling water
Sometimes a sound rises so sweet and clear
Sweet, aching and true.
Filling every space with resonance
So strong, it's like seeing color
For the very first time.
Then the sound decays, and
And now I'm still
There are shadows playing
Echos of a ringing, singing thing
Shadows playing, faking,
The very thought
Of something as silly