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The Modern Age
Listen to the songs we sing,
The instruments as they play.
They sing their own melodies.
Feel them in your soul, reverberating in your stomach.
And our voices,
As they intertwine,
Clumsy webs, beautiful, intricate, despite all lack of fluidity.
Harmonies, full in the air around us,
Covering us, a mother and child.
Surrounding us, lovers intertwined.
But, now, today,
They are gone
To straight melodies inserted
Straight into ignorant ears.
And the crocheted webs of woven harmony
That once comforted us,
Has been replaced by this wall,
Metal and smooth and artificial.
To which we are pressed to
And shot with transient melodies.
Oh, my love,
How beautiful you are to me,
Though I do not look at your beauty, great it may be;
I see you for your manner and your ways.
Love shines from you and there was
Never any escape, though my feet would never think of it.
And I feel it in every presence of you,
From your smooth skin, soft voice, flowing hair;
Your cooing song pressed to my ear,
And I am left defenseless from your love,
Which I so enthusiastically return.
But, now, today,
A floating wall of text.
Progressing up and up and up, but never growing.
There is no warmth from these screens that stare me down.
And nothing differentiates a love from a neighbor, a friend, an enemy.
I feel no smoothness in the keys,
No softness in these pixilated walls,
This wall, this wall,
Does nothing but stand between you and me,
Does nothing but hide love from one another.
Is this love? Do we know? Is it lost?
But the walls, no answers come from them.
And today, everyday,
Love frails, falls away.
Every last drop of beauty in this failing world:
A smell, a child, a book, a sky;
Banned and controlled and burned and destroyed.
Where blond is the color and 0 the size.
Where simplicity has died and beauty is void,
And love is an idea and faith is a joke.
And living is no longer a necessity of life.
Oh! My generation! The Wonders of the Modern Age!