by Richard Vince

It’s the buzz of adventure,
Bright lights flickering in
A distant city, fluorescence
Illuminating the corner
In which I sit.

It’s the soundtrack to my
Generation, the electronic age
That seemed so much like
The future it inevitably
Became unmistakably the past.

It’s the way we moved, and
Moved, and moved, the
Seemingly unending dance
That takes us onwards,
Ever outwards.

It’s the thing I miss the most,
Somehow, because it is
The thing I cannot have,
The sound I cannot hear,
The place I cannot go.


Author's Note: Thyristor: a solid state semiconductor device used to switch electric currents.

Posted on 07/01/2020
Copyright © 2021 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rebecca Andre on 07/06/20 at 01:54 AM

I love the second stanza. Well done

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