beacons

beacons

we are (are we not?) living in strange times.

we know these days are strange

because the internet shows us

the old days, the future days, and

all our today’s across the world,

that differ in strange ways;

and the ways that these ways 

overlap or intrude is strange,

in a way (are they not?).

strange to be saying this on

the internet of ways, to 

readers who read in so many ways,

in so many places, where they 

are lucky / unlucky - depending 

on the way in which you, in your

way see it.

anxiety spreads so fast

along the feedback loop of 

tweets and retweets, that 

despair might drown all hope

on this Möbius curve.

except the beacons that blaze

in the annealing winds. So

let the poetry of hope burn bright,

may the ash of despair feed

the fields of Elysium,

so that the shoots of hope grow, 

and the entwined butterflies 

extricate themselves from the web,

to burn up in the sun.