Help: poem

» Help index » Guilds » Races

My Idiot-Savant Computer

Dangerous, insidious e-mail.

Should have just gone to sleep.
Cried myself to sleep, perhaps and I would have felt better
this morning.

But the computer was calling to me,
Come; pour out depression, confusion, sorrow, woe.

Gushing cascade of self-indulgent, babbling drivel
flowed over the keys
into its heart.

And my left ring-finger hovered over the 's' key...
until in a burst of what I called bravery, it hit.

Sent. Gone.

Electronic pulses racing to his account,
embedding themselves inextricably (for me at least)
in his mail.

And he's read it now. No response, yet.

I wait, and curse my temporary insanity,
and the speed of electronic advancements,
which race far faster than the maturity of the human heart.

*******

M.A. Mohanraj
October 30, 1992


«  Back to topics