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5.61 - 153/95/116
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--- (sitting inside a computer lab.)
Work that i find all around
Colors of many dots to be found
Touch and perform actions like nothing
Making the life null to be bound.
Depends on the mind on how much it takes
Go on in life the hard work and mistakes
Drones too many in this life so fake
Yet the life the death of a snake.
Silence that is found in the air in the sound
Fear that addict and addict will i get
Makes the life depend on it and yet
The trilogy of life wasted to forget.
Made are so many the roots of a tree
Branches are we roots to hold
Fallen have we to these roots of lines
Data as we call them free or sold.
Cold in the clarity of these so beautiful
Eyes to cry for them so painful
Wonder that we can in this world of machines
The computer so useful the end of hell.
Submitted on 2006-04-13 09:13:26
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||| Comments |||
we slither through life hoping that our mind will stay alive even as we accomplish day to day menial tasks....
the poet's mind allows him or her to rise above the mundane with some purpose...
to go outside the box...to have a working mind while the hands are may be working at a menial task..
i like how these lines are put together..the momentum is at the end of each line..a crescendo built...rather than the emphasis falling off as we reach the last word...
twisted and good
| Posted on 2011-04-19 00:00:00 | by
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