Tad's Poem of the <Insert Time Period Here>

A modem now holds steady at 0 baud,
in summer winds rustling like line noise.
Dust settles on a faded keyboard, poised
askew, a forgotten idol's grey facade.
No monitor sleep light awaits the caress
of mouse, or space bar's careless press.
Spam stacks up, joining griefs and joys
of e-mails past, bookmarks well-trod --
we cannot find a forwarding address.
And somewhere, in an airy corner blessed
with bright wiring, built-in firewalls
(and no need to share the line with voice),
as bandwidth hymns soar in those shining halls,
she checks her websites at the knee of God.

See the Poem Vaults! (They're even indexed! ]B=8))

Questions? Criticisms? Praise? Contact me! All comments are welcomed!

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