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Poem

Slowly, slowly,
Like melting snow,
Our humanity,
Drips away,

Fingers tapping,
Screens flashing,
Lives spent,
Chasing Paper castles,
And hollow hearts,

And for our Attention,
We claim our prize;
Gifts of Short lived
Dopamine,
Pieces of silver,
Exchanged,
For our precious mind.

This digital pilgrimage,
To an empty space,
Where no hands,
Hold warm flesh and blood,
Or wide eyes,
Connect in true embrace,

Lost Years,
Where only the fleeting matters ,
Our Truths long forgotten,
Filed away,
Buried for some other Day.

Slowly, slowly,
We turn away,
And give all to this digital Hand,
That takes and takes,
Never full,
Each time,
Wanting more ,

This hand that would guide
and lead us,
Take us to a promised Land,
Across fields and streets
Claimed by frozen statues,
With eyes looking down,
Eyes that long ago,
Lost their loving shine.

And as we try to see again,
What once lay beyond,
These Corporate,
Plastic dreams,
These theme parks,
Of empty validations,

Just for a moment.,
We glimpse,
What we have become,

And we Long,
with all our heart,
Just to be born again.

Born again;
To blue summer skies,
To star light,
That Comes to greet us,
To give us hope,
From the black velvet cloak,
Of night,

Born again,
To the smell of fresh earth,
Rising after Summer rains,
To the sound,
Of bird song,
That feels hazy summer air.

To warm Hands,
That would squeeze us tightly,
and let us know we are still
Real.

John Roberts

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