Feel It
Where do the artificial people take us?—working hundred-hour weeks—
Computers rule! “Behold the marketplace! Where solitude doth end!”
“What this of Pot and Potter?”—the luckless off to hell?
“Fill me with the old familiar juice,” for Yahweh hath provided.
“Dear friend, far off, my lost desire—
There is a lower and a higher—”
Memories beg the human heart to open—
To spill its blood—to the earth—to itself—unto God—
Shallow feelings slop as newsy bits supply our souls—
Deeper feelings ooze as the oldies play—
‘Feelings’ reaching things they do not understand—
‘Understanding’ flummoxed by feelings it cannot satisfy—
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