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Written: October 15, 2023
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Hanging precariously on the landline pole,
The sun's beams dance, yet no heat console.
Akin to power wires in homes spread and sway,
But it seems friendly warmth has gone astray.
 
Sun rays are vanishing behind the fog cover,
Placing the world through a frost to discover.
Nonetheless, it still clings to the phone cable,
A sign of hope is when light and cheer are stable.
 
Phone broadband towers above the keen sky.
It manages the call akin to a coordinator of a tie.
Yet it feels empty without the rays of the sun.
A mystery gap, an unviable-to-cram void, began.
 
Our bones are gently dying as we sit in silence.
Warmth may induce a shift in people's reliance.
But the phone's broadband remains unmoved.
By embracing all our goals, we stay unimproved. 
 
We dearth the sun to engulf us with its coziness.
To devote us comfort, we struggle for prosiness.
But forthwith, we're out in the cold, yearning.
For the radiation from the sun to start burning.

Acoustically, we fix our gaze on the phone wire,
Speculating around when it will uplift us higher.
Will it ever convey to us the warmth we desire?
Or will it ditch us eternally in this icy quagmire?

However, a hyperlink grows inside the wire.
A flickering ember of faith that will not tire.
So there is a secret power within the cord.
A convenient network that hinders the record

Each house, each heart, a node in this scheme,
An array of linkages where comfort can gleam.
And though the sun may not shine with its might,
Each of us is able to produce our proper light.

So let us sit quietly in the cold embrace.
And bear changes at our proper pace.
The phone, a device, or a wire may hang above
Yet it is up to us to descry the embrace of love.

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