| Friends
Without Faces |
A Bag Of Tools |
Invictus |
| We sit and we
type, we stare at our screens We all have to wonder, what this possibly means. With our mouse we roam, through the rooms in a maze Looking for something or someone as we sit in a daze. We chat with each other, we type all our woes Small groups we do form, and gang up on our foes. We wait for somebody, to type out our name We want recognition, and it is always the same. We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes flirt In cyberlife we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt. We do form friendships - but - why we don't know Yet some of these friendships, will flourish and grow. Why is it on screen, we can be so bold Telling our secrets, that have never been told? Why is it we share, the thoughts in our mind With those we can't see, as though we were blind? The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell. We are living our lives, and need someone to tell. Not always heard offline, yet tell someone we must So we turn to the 'puter, and to those we can trust. Even though it is crazy, the truth still remains We are Friends Without Faces, and odd little names. |
R. L. Sharpe Isn't it strange how princes and kings, and clowns that caper in sawdust rings, and ordinary people like you and me, are builders for eternity? Each is given a list of rules; a shapeless mass; a bag of tools. And each must fashion, ere life is flown, A stumbling block, or a Stepping-Stone. ***************************************** *** Success (You'll Get It) ***
If you want a thing bad enough
If only desire of it
If life seems all empty
If gladly you'll sweat for it,
If you'll simply go after
If neither cold poverty,
If dogged and grim
Published in: |
William
Ernest Henley 1849-1903 Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell cluth of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the Shade. And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. A special thank you to a chat acquaintance known as Nelson for his inspired photograph. Page created 5/15/05 It's a window into my soul. |