mhall46184@aol.com
Tablets, But Not From Mount Sinai
There is no darkness to our restless nights
Even the trees are lit by an industrial glow
One’s room is a mystery of little lights
Hovering like fairies putting on a show
Mostly blue, a yellow one here and there
Some reds and greens, as boxes take on power
Our masters’ eyes and spies, colouring the air
While watching, listening, hour after after hour
You wake, you listen - a moving finger writes
There is no darkness to our restless nights
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