Monday, October 11, 2010

A Voiceless Babel

With billions of others a stampeding herd
Running, turning, every direction, no direction

A voiceless Babel with too many words
Happy to belong to everything, belonging to nothing

A troupe of prophets with nothing to see
With too many visions, with no vision

Followers of the automated, the conformed pack
Pleased with no direction, no hope, no vision

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