Cyberspace

I glare into cyberspace and wonder why I'm here. Why am I here, this moment, stuck in a room with four walls, and one hollow being staring into a light up box. What's the point?

I can't tell you. No one can. If you believe in something up in the sky then maybe you can ask that something. Say hello for me if it answers you back. Whatever it is.

I wonder why I'm stuck out here on a lonely peice of cyberspace. What's the point of this if it's lost in a sea of other poets rising and falling dreams?

What's the point if this data can just be ereased as quickly as the words form from brain to fingures to keystrokes?

The box sits looking back at me. It's a mirror of whatever I tell it to say. I wish the box would answer my how's and why's.

Why am I apart of the human race? Why have I become another poet? Another drifert on a digital frontieer? Am I to be a pioneer? Or should I and my words be laid to waste for a thousand light years?

So here is a soul stuck out in cyberspace... a drifter slowly detactching from the human race. I wonder if my words will survive or just get lost in digital waste? Was I ment to be a human soul? Or was I ment to disspear on bits of digital frontieers?