Email Poem

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Poem

I sit and think of
	programs that
assign values to
	words that are wrote

love and hate and in envy are
	words that of passion may be
but value nothing to
	the values of the machine

angles slopes and rectangles
	roaring sounds growing louder
winds that blow and clothes that flutter
	things of value they may see

flowing curves of tender flesh
	rising above clean white lines
bright blue eyes sparkling bright
	flesh being speared by burning light

hearts that beat with beating flutter
	longing felt some how deep inside
burning passion consuming flesh
	of these computers feel nothing

as I sit the words I write
	on screen of black and white
speaking words into a mic
	parchment not nor quill pen

oceans roar on screen back
	waves crash upon the rocks
clouds above of reds and grays
	lit dimly by setting sun

no man-made things of lines and squares
	shining chrome painted black
backwards turning of the wheels
	and guitar not played

arrows fletched in ribbons long
	words in blood wrote upon
shot into the shining sun
	traveling through the coming time

writing words for computers to read
	caring not what people may see
dreams soar not upon the lines
	no passions burned with the thoughts

what to write and what to be
	what is the purpose that I see
will my words count for ever more
	or be lost and never seen

writing poems on Friday morn
	wondering what I may be
known of none or maybe more
	lost through all eternity

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