Fred Aiken Writing

screens glow with an eerie light

as our fingers dance in a hypnotic flight,

we’re lost in a world of endless streams

like suburban junkies chasing a fading waking dream

the signals pulse, the eyes contract, like electric big bulbous veins,

we stare into the void, minds wrapped in chains,

a ghostly echo of the ethe(real),

trapped in a web of silicon and steel

the programmed cities are a labyrinth of wires,

as we navigate the endless spires,

our eyes locked on a distant prize,

chasing the rabbit, chasing the endless pages of a story that says nothing and comforts no one

neon signs flicker, fade,

as we stumble through the midnight parade, the gorgeous night stumbles, and neon

blades stab into directionless voids,

where the only rules are follow, pursue, follow peruse, follow, abuse

abrasive shadows dance like madmen in the dark,

race along, minds alight with a spark,

hearts a ticking time bomb, ready to explode,

as the struggle to find our way back to the road leads to endless splits and trenches

but in the Rorschach, there is still hope,

a flicker of light, a way to cope,

a path to freedom, a way to break an invisible chain’s weight,

but the answer lies behind a sip of tea, a thoughtless hat, a whisper

of a day not half-bad