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Click hereThe world is white now,
no wishes
to get it over with
was granted.
Nectar turned to stasis,
orange shimmer with low
Kelvin gloss hums in the
morning rays,
more tangible now than ever.
Dawn greets with cyan
and dusk with fire,
because they dare not
remind us of the other,
do all they can to fuel
the antithesis.
As if dueling
could grant them any other
purpose than ticks
in our imagination,
our illusion of concept.
It will be all right tomorrow.
But everything is analog.
Process, not pulse,
propels us.
Everything is white now.
It suspends our disbelief,
but is also nothing
but an earth bound
perspective's folly.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,500 poems.
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The first and probably the last time those two words will be used in a poem. Very thought provoking, I'll be tossing and turning over this one tonight!
Thoughtful piece ~
digital's discrete
disassembling life's analog processes...