Echos of eden
In the garden of discontent
Lost innocence in the electronic spaces
Alone in the spaces between electrons and life
As the transients of the new age suffer unrequited love
Wandering aimlessly, the web of uncertainty
Seeking, searching their golden moments
Instants of connection, moments of solace
Connections of mental communion
Or physical ardor
Alone in the crowd, a soul among many
Wanting, needing …. something
A patriarchal reminisce
A matriarchal memory
Healing that empty cold experience
Or to forget the treasonous moment
And the fact they were abandoned by life
Separated by distances by languages by blood
Realizations become evidence
Evidence becomes clearity
The world is simply a grand illusion
The actual truth is it isn’t really here
At all.

An Original Poem by H.R. Beebe