Screen flickers,
hope for a better tomorrow,
delivered from men and women,
I never met.
Click.
That's all it takes,
from ones who had been there before,
not torched passed,
but torched blazing,
for the light compounds,
interest from your interest.
If the pen is mighter than the sword,
then how much so,
the keyboard,
whose ink bleeds internationally,
permanent yet quick to fade,
in the designs of each other.
Yet we need each other,
if our lines are to make any sense.
Or maybe I'm too tired to make any sense.
(pexels.com)
