Clouds float in the air

on a blue day,

busy guides to unknown locations,

directed with the changes of the wind.

 

On a rare day,

when your life and home become mundane,

You might follow

and listen to the whisper of the wind

and the rustle of the trees

as they speak to you in the familiar language

of freedom.

Freedom you can't find in the 

brick and mortar of concrete jungles

in shopping malls where

Ants pop in and out of stores,

Following the same marching paths,

Freedom you can't get attached to

Phones or computers

Whose chains rub skin raw

from the need to check them every minute

to see "Watz up?" on the screen,

 a tempting little devil that calls you

back again and again in a siren's song.

 

If we were honest,

Are we really "connected?"

While we listen and proclaim 

to the world,

scratching permanent marks on

chalkboard webs with faux images

we often project.

Or is it some need to feel important?

The people really give a fig

you got a Carmel Mocha Frappuccino

in a cute, little, snowman cup.

 

We search for satisfaction

from the number of followers or likes we get,

From someone who paid attention for 30 seconds

and spring to attention like

Figures on strings

the moment that screen lights up

 

Because the tech God rules all

but stingy pagans who became

Skeptical of a changing world.

And each check of the screen

has become some tribal dance for rain.

 

Yet, when we become so "connected,"

Do we lose our skills socially?

Where relationships only hit it off

through texts,

Drives are filled with tunes of

Video game tracks

And "hanging out" consists of

You plus Me and your Third Wheel.