Noise
In the whirl of data, a mind’s quiet retreat,
four networks once whispered, now millions scream,
in the dance of bytes, life’s rhythm competes.
Sunrise greets not with birds, but pings not so sweet,
screens a glow, casting a relentless gleam,
in the whirl of data, a mind’s quiet retreat.
Gone are days of ink-stained fingers, news at our feet,
replaced by endless scrolls, a digital stream,
in the dance of bytes, life’s rhythm competes.
We sought knowledge, but now in excess we meet,
a barrage of truths and lies, a confusing theme,
in the whirl of data, a mind’s quiet retreat.
Memories of simplicity, so obsolete,
when a paper’s rustle was the day’s regime,
in the dance of bytes, life’s rhythm competes.
Yet in chaos, a longing for a gentle heartbeat,
for the quiet of old, a simpler dream,
in the whirl of data, a mind’s quiet retreat,
in the dance of bytes, life’s rhythm competes.
Drew Frederic