Poetry

We

We are the people who sit in dimmed light,
Frantically tapping at the chiclet keys,
Of our very expensive,
Computer which we bought to try,
To guilt ourselves into creation.

We are the people who verify,
The latest edit has made its,
Way down the pipeline, past,
The gatekeepers of content, and,
Out into the light.

We are forgotten updaters, who,
Cut and paste, type,
Backspace, click,
Select,
Delete.

We are the many unknown,
Hitherto, heretofore and henceforth.
Our dent in the universe is,
As small,
As it is colossal.

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