Stones of Babel – a poem

In wonder thereat we stare upward at the stones

Piled high as monument to the speeches of demigods

Obsessed with where we should be heading, a race

Defined by concerns of machinery instead of spirit.


Machinations in the chase for development supreme

Ride over and above our path to the tip of the tower

Of Babel, voices crossed and blended into a whole,

Subsumed by a medium made subtly intrusive.


The towers reign on high, monsters of metal signals

Beaming out their wares, sentinels acting for purveyors

Of the torrid worlds held inside electronic storms,

Kept alive by minds ever resting on the same topics.



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