The Day the Video Died: A Fantasy Apocalypse

All screens are black.
No images move.
Electricity remains,
but will not work its charms on screens.

Darkness moves across the face of the watched world.
As no one understand, as (most) all lament.

Nothing to click.
Nothing to push.
It's frozen; it's broken.

We are forsaken of distraction.
We are diverted from diversion.

All screens are black, black!
No one can avoid
The new and unbidden void.

What is left?
What remains to do, to be?
Video has vanished.

We are thrown back to pages,
to print
--poems and prose--
to photographs,
to paintings,
to mountains and plains,
to statues.

We are thrown back to untelevized people.
To eyes that return our gaze,
To ears that hear our words,
To skin that feels our touch.

We are thrown back to...ourselves:
whatwe forgot among the images.

We return as souls among others who are there,
In the flesh,
In the moment.

And we are thrown back to God,
the One we forgot among the images.