Scattered cross the lands, we stare into our screens, wishing someone’s listening, we rant about our dreams. The world’s sole stance is silence; we rarely warrant a reply. Undaunted by indifference, we amplify our screams. We speak about our moments, our mottos and our moods; we write about our habits, our hang ups and our foods. We shout from on the mountaintop, great secrets we have gained; we usurp the local weathermen, proclaiming there is rain. We laugh, we cry, we joke, we lie, we mourn, we sigh, we hope, we die. Tirelessly we’re searching to say that special thing to finally draw attention to what we have to sing.
But all there is are echoes- our voice returns to us, having circled ’round the globe, unnoticed as the dust. Yet still we stay a staring, romancing with our screen, for reality is messy- in here we all are clean, with all our lives in front of us, etched in fonts we choose, engulfed by virtual visions, the new millennial’s ruse.