Posted November 18, 2017
It is a never-ending sea of words,
Sliced in neatly portioned threads
On a speckless slate gray background.
At dusk, it hits my eyes daily,
As the sunset would in a world of bits.
Perhaps sometimes too bold or too italic
I am forever drawn to its shores.
Some see no meaning to this place -
Empty, like a hollow moon on a sky
Where gods and trolls assemble
To shower us with burning commentary
And enigmatic dark blue puzzles.
A cup of tea giving off the only right kind of steam
And I know that I am in this place
Looking at its decrepit walls.
Though flawed, erratic and unreal,
It is what gathers strangers
In momentary thought exchange -
A nexus of fools and dreams.
Sliced in neatly portioned threads
On a speckless slate gray background.
At dusk, it hits my eyes daily,
As the sunset would in a world of bits.
Perhaps sometimes too bold or too italic
I am forever drawn to its shores.
Some see no meaning to this place -
Empty, like a hollow moon on a sky
Where gods and trolls assemble
To shower us with burning commentary
And enigmatic dark blue puzzles.
A cup of tea giving off the only right kind of steam
And I know that I am in this place
Looking at its decrepit walls.
Though flawed, erratic and unreal,
It is what gathers strangers
In momentary thought exchange -
A nexus of fools and dreams.