Margins by George Hoernerwords spew fourth
not connected yet
just words springing
from some thought
an elusive idea
not yet formed
that floats in the mind
looking for a foothold
there is no mental image
for focus or reflection
no modern icons
upon which to lean
just years of waking
then stumbling from
sunup to dark unsure
of meaningful direction
wondering where
the gods and goddesses
of past ages have gone
and how after
six hundred years
the written word has
come to have
so little or much meaning
that one hundred and
forty characters
might ruin a life
or start a war
are we all fools playing
at life with key strokes
please see the margins
for intelligible details
08/16/2009
Author's Note: I'm not sure I'm finished with this.
Posted on 08/18/2009 Copyright © 2024 George Hoerner
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Laura Doom on 08/26/09 at 04:14 PM Ah -- the context; the unacceptable typeface of electronic transmission; the prosaic key is in the padding. Sound articulation. |
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