How I long to gather my thoughts,
Sharpen them to pencil’s point,
With all its smoky decadence,
Press them to paper,
Watch them swoop and loop and dance
Across the page with the elegance
Of one trained to speak and read and write
With grace.
But they cannot, or will not, and all I’ve got
Is a lost desire to illustrate something—
What was it?—
Every time I enter the room, I’ve lost why I came
How to find what I’ve forgotten?
Every door open
Is a thousand doors abandoned
Not shut, but never touched
And some doors will never close again.
Why did I reach for this one and
Where is that door, that I can return and
try again?
But I’m lost in a maze of doors,
Really only three,
With two directions that
Lead to one place.
To think, all this time,
We’ve feared machines becoming men
As we became machines.
To think, all this time,
We thought we were free.
Sharpen them to pencil’s point,
With all its smoky decadence,
Press them to paper,
Watch them swoop and loop and dance
Across the page with the elegance
Of one trained to speak and read and write
With grace.
But they cannot, or will not, and all I’ve got
Is a lost desire to illustrate something—
What was it?—
Every time I enter the room, I’ve lost why I came
How to find what I’ve forgotten?
Every door open
Is a thousand doors abandoned
Not shut, but never touched
And some doors will never close again.
Why did I reach for this one and
Where is that door, that I can return and
try again?
But I’m lost in a maze of doors,
Really only three,
With two directions that
Lead to one place.
To think, all this time,
We’ve feared machines becoming men
As we became machines.
To think, all this time,
We thought we were free.
