A beat
The Internet is
down and so we are too.
Left with
nothing to do
But sit and
ponder our lonesome existence.
Our worries
surface and our
Thumbs twiddle
--
Over and over
and over each other they go
Waiting for
something new.
Or for you to
stop twiddling and turn around,
For you to go
upstairs and sit down without your electronics or your bowl of soup.
For you just to
sit and ponder your lonely existence because you are alone and you do exist.
I do not ponder for pondering is foolish, even the word
sounds like nonsense.
Ponder, ponder,
pon-n-n-nder.
Shall we define
you? Oh! But we can’t. Our precious Google is hiding. He’s depressed; the
search button leading only to an imminent demise and an ultimate, horrific
death.
To know the
definition, the origin, the syllable count. What’s the point?!
To create
sentences, paragraphs, poetry and novels? Oh, please, please do, but not if it
pleases you and me and everyone over there and everyone over here, but only if
it upsets them and annoys me and hurts you.
