Those lucky few who meet their match;
Of wit, of heart, of circumstance.
Entwined they are in fates unknown;
For none should face the void alone.
Seek the one that comforts thee;
In moments steeped in misery.
Life presents us tragedy;
With Love – the only remedy.
While perusing social media,
I found a post which held some trivia.
A mystery that seemed insistent:
Boredom killed without assistance
From the World Wide Web’s existence.
The post had claimed they didn’t know;
A barren comment thread below.
Sad that we so soon forget
The things we did sans internet.
There was a world out there to see.
With people roaming constantly.
We had some tools to keep in check.
Like updating our rolodex
To store the number and address
Of colleagues, friends and relatives.
The library was where you went,
To read a book or document.
A television kept us watching;
Sports and sitcoms worth enjoying.
News and programs meant for learning.
Perhaps a PSA, or warning.
Keeping us “informed” and “knowing”.
Imagination played a role, as it so often does.
We went outside and socialized;
But some still hid inside.
The same is true today, as well.
Though with a broader view.
Our passions keep us occupied
While finding peace or truth.
The internet is just a tool for sharing information.
How we use it will define our future situation.
As for boredom, don’t you fret!
It comes and goes with little threat.
Taking care to not forget
The wonders of the Internet.
Many tell of superb tales;
Written, read by many.
From grim to wondrous fairytales;
Fictitious or uncanny.
Stories told or read alone;
They pull us towards a world.
Conceived of ideas stemming forth,
From minds still deemed unknown.
Though we know the author’s name,
Or pseudonym, if any.
We only know the words they chose,
To tell their unique stories.
There is a lesson here, indeed;
Correction: “Slice of Life”.
The words they write, and which we read;
Only echoes from a mind.
The misty air condenses swiftly.
Your vision blurs and leaves you quickly.
You hear a growl, but only barely.
The chilling air the night has brought thee
Stabs your throat and lungs abruptly.
Something stirs and bounds towards thee;
Hungry eyes that glare intently.
This is only one of many.
The Fog conceals the hunting party.
Leaving you to wonder, grimly.
If, at least, it will end quickly…
Sent there by the powers be;
The land is scarred and red.
A cancerous technology,
Has met with evil dread.
Horrors from another realm,
Invade to sate their hunger.
Tearing flesh and bone from limb,
Leaving no survivors.
You are there to take it back;
By force and nothing more.
With guns both light or large impact;
Knives and saws to gore.
Sir Detective Henry uncloaked a baffling mystery.
For which the crime assumed to be
Strange and steeped in melancholy.
The fiends and culprits, dastardly;
It seemed, they got away scot-free.
Sir Henry, so shocked was he,
Of his last discovery;
Doomed was he after he sees,
The grim, morbid monstrosity.
And this is how it came to be,
Sir Henry lost his sanity.
A visit to the lake!
Wouldn’t that be great?
The sun is shining high above this gorgeous lakeside place.
It certainly would be a shame for all of us to waste
This perfect opportunity to come and congregate.
Shops and stands are nearby, too, for grubbing on some food.
Ice cream, coffee, sandwiches, and perhaps a brew or two.
Have a walk or lounge about,
What is there to debate?
The water calls, without a doubt,
Asking you to play.
Edgar Allan Poe has always been a huge inspiration to me. Hope you all enjoy this little poem that sounds an awful lot like my favorite poem of all time.
—
The tools are gone or broken;
The tech guys haven’t spoken…
The emails bear no token,
Of any grand solution.
Restless, we are all becoming.
And the reloads bring back nothing.
Load the pages not responding…
Quoth the server, “404”.
Playing roles of many kinds,
Characters aplenty.
Backgrounds from creative minds;
We seek to build a story.
Over time or on the spot,
We’re ready either way.
When we must create a plot,
We cannot shirk away.
There’s a rumbling down the alley.
A low and earthy moan.
Some kind of monstrosity,
Has risen from its’ tomb.
There is no use in running;
They will all feed tonight.
Your only choice is fighting,
Until the dawn brings light.
Bedsforth 