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Whispers,
I hear in my ears
from the wind
that carries your message
across the ocean
to reach me
in the city of million people
filled with the ecstasy of
modern civilisation of social networking.
Alas! power blackout across the city,
No Facebook, no twitter, no another other social network!
I can't reply your message,
the wind has stopped blowing, too.
Whispers,
I hear in my ears
from the wind
that carries your message
across the ocean
to reach me
in the city of million people
filled with the ecstasy of
modern civilisation of social networking.
Alas! power blackout across the city,
No Facebook, no twitter, no another other social network!
I can't reply your message,
the wind has stopped blowing, too.
Lily Jul 2015
In this shallow age
of facebook,
instagram, selfie,
I realized one thing,
I'd rather be called intellectual than pretty.




© Leigh Herondale  *2015
I'll be 20 in 7th September ***
Yoghead May 2015
I stood alone
Outside our bar,
Eyes drawn through the ***** window,
Beyond a familiar yet sad reflection.
There you were,
With him,
Taking photos for Facebook
Jennifer Weiss May 2015
There are opportunities a plenty,
as much as the fallen leaves on the ground.
If you breathe deeply and listen,
you can hear God's sound.
I am making it my mission,
to tell you all right now-
Spreading the gospel is more fruitful than fishing,
because even a line cast can be a letdown.
So share the word of Jesus.
Wear it strung round your forehead like a crown.
Write a tweet, send a text, sing a song long and proud.
God gave you everything and then some,
So what will you give right now?
rewrite.
Roy Esnarom Mar 2015
i whisper into the void
and wonder if you hear me
you stare into the void
and wonder what's that sound
this is our relationship
these are all our relationships
i hope some day someone
would hear you clear
thank you for readin'
random internet user
2011
E Lynch Nov 2014
I feel most lonely when sitting at my computer.

There is the promise of knowledge, creativity, friends, love, companionship, shared ideals and inspiration.

But the reality of constant connectivity is quite different.

Bullying goes on outside of school.

Oppressive people find each other and a platform to taunt and torment their victims.

Idiots band together and spread stupidity like a modern black plague.

Intelligent ideas are challenged and the people who thought them up as stupid.

Creativity is put down and judged.

People are separated instead of united.

And love? Love seems to be non existent as the ignorant people who turn on their computers to put down good and promote evil don't even realise that there is a real person on the other side of that screen, and even then some do.

My news feed is full of bad news.

Full of sexism, ****, inequality, torment, animal abuse, war, ignorance, stupidity oppression, child abuse and ultimately hate.

I realise the collective imagination is dying when I can't even remember what it is I did before this accursed computer came into my life and took over.

My rewards are nothing but imagined friends and fake conversations over text, we're communicating but not connecting, something in me longs to be back when if I didn't meet my friends regularly we lost touch because that is how real relationships are supposed to work.

With care, effort, meet ups and real conversation.

Emotion instead of emoticons.

Care instead of clicks.

Laughter instead of likes.

When photographs were precious personal memories rather than a trophy of 'look where I am' 'look how pretty I am' 'look at how much fun we're having' and sharing them meant a coffee or a few beers and a trip down memory lane flipping through dusty photo albums and laughing at your awful clothes, make up, hair and the state you were in rather than scrolling back through your online albums alone and commenting on how horrendous your photoshop jobs on some of them are.

When people were living their life for themselves rather than living to try and impress others.

When it was face to face rather than facebook to facebook.

I feel most lonely when sitting at my computer.
David Doran Oct 2014
Facebooks News feed but it does not feed,
It fuels our perception of popularity,
It makes me wonder why is it this we need?
We get a thrill out of getting a like, it this humanity
Ruining ourselves with our own intelligence?
Are we not to evolve? This does not make sense,
On twitter we tweet,
But only birds tweet,
Birds are free and wild,
They do not worry about money or time,
Or if they can make the next line rhyme,
We are as free as a bird in a zoo,
Exact times to eat and use the loo,
We are slaves of our own mind,
These "intelligent" creatures which rule mankind
preservationman Jun 2014
This is who I am
I do want to continue to be your professional friend
A person with years of experience
I can also illustrate in an instance
Education that has taken me far
You really don’t need a car
I am a writer and a poet
These are my traits and now you know it
My words have a certain flow
My sentences reflect in the show
My photo being the person behind the profile
I believe my image creates a certain style
There’s plenty of information to share
There is still time and its called spare
Linkedin.Com with its professional approach
Other profile’s being no joke
The many people that I have connected
A chosen few who are selected
Linkedin.Com a form of exchange
It’s all about how ideas are arranged
At some point, you can always make a change.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Mew
as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.
Written Sitting against an Oak tree outside of a family friend's farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

— The End —