Sleep runners rule the day.
Don't know where they are going,
What they are doing,
But they are moving.
Plugged in, jacked up, spaced out.
Proving their connections,
Never minding their defections.
Ear buds in.
Cell phones on.
Text messages out.
Never any doubt:
This is not sin.
Running to their portals.
Running with their portals.
No more mere mortals.
They are the wired wonders,
Souls torn asunder.
Sleep runners sparked by electronic speed.
Stimulation their obsessive need.
Never paying any heed
To any outworn Creed.
1 comment:
wow, this poem is very beautiful and truthful indeed. If Poe is right and sorrow is a beautiful motif, this piece is even more beautiful in essence.
Appreciate your writing.
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