Is he listening?
An old and lonely man I saw was walking down the beach,
He held an infant in his hand; composed of knowledge he loved to teach
Knowing me, I sat and breathed, and watched him wave about his hands
And this is now the story he told, rewritten by an inferior man.
And since his story never ends, it paused but yet again began
And with a breath and sigh the man continued with these words then:
"And as he walked a lonely hall, that bustled with but ghosts
He loosely held a bulk device, of blue outdated nuts and bolts
The sound erupted in loud spurts but only he could hear
As the plastic, metal beast clung softly to his windchapped ears
Spinning, staring, rolling in streams, the background noise helped paint the scene
A wave of thought and music bulged, from what he clung to with fake need
While green marbles glanced about, withdrawn from everything to see
And with every drying sight, like gnats they swarmed in useless flocks
Sparse around the great compound and drivelling in their plastic thoughts
The men poured asphault on the grass to make the land accessible
And when the gods saw what they did, they covered it with gentle snow
And then we went in circles..."