A poem written sometime earlier this year after reading too much Eliot and thinking excessively about the things we have lost in this era of technology and information.Another Lost Generation
The music of the spheres is only heard in silence.
Remove the ear buds that will never blossom;
Tear down Babel and relearn how to hear.
Do they even know honor?
A true crossed heart and hope to die?
Under your hands the world is barren
The seed won't flower.
The bread fails to rise.
Do we know the way the gentlemen ride
so early in the morning?
Do we know the reason Helen cried
and filled the dawn with mourning?
Do we remember the worth of a new friend
and the old friend worth bright gold?
Do we remember the gift to Baucis
when Philemon's hands are old?
Morals and ethics not reinvented,
Permanent bonds not re-extended,
Powerless, severed from the source of Generation;
Weaker,
Groping fingers click the sign of the eternal sphere
Disrupted.
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