Can you hear it, underneath the red whirring and white noise?
No, even the sky has lost it, even the sad blue sea.
Our eyes stare, blinded with love, we forget family and
the lovely hum is our lullaby, our lovesong, our life.
Who meditates anymore? Who now has the piece of mind?
We’ve lost the game, the board is full, all money in one hand.
We strain our eyes for the next, the best, and forget the first.
Listen, even our hands have let it go. Listen, it fades.
Do we still dream inaudible? Or is that, too, drowned out?
If we still sleep, we wake ourselves if it gets too quiet.
It must be so cacophonous. What if you stopped to think?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Inspired by both the Poetic Asides prompt to write a poem about machines, and the NaPoWriMo blog challenge to have fourteen syllables in each line.