A Poet, Dear God

A poet, Dear God...the words still sting

so many generations later--to think

I might have been chasing rainbows of ink

all these years for nothing?

Her radio was dialed in to constellations

I couldn't comprehend--

“How could it be,” I thought, “wavering between suns,

never in phase with some other band?”

A symphony conducted of nothing, just cacophonous

blips and beeps of incoherent bytes,

randomly transmitted burps--black noise

meant to signify a connection to sites

and sounds of a new age--

an absolutely meaningless stage.

Ken e Bujold

© 2022

Reviews

[Miss Sharon]

(A symphony conducted of nothing, just cacophonous blips and beeps of incoherent bytes,) It does seem to be that way many times. ~Sharon

[Ken e Bujold]

it sure seems so