Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

When We No Longer Can Wonder


when the siren song of the screen usurps the centering of the soul,
when we bow down so low to the pixelated god as to kiss nothing,
when the magic of the machine becomes the only thing worthy of our worship,

then the shreds of our remaining humanity will wonder at what became of our wonder,
and the final thought of our satiated mind will be a mourning of the loss of our ability to kiss or engage in the art of a gentle touch

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