Through the Haze


Seven decades into this thing called life,

I am just beginning to see through the haze

Chained to the rigors of a long commute, down to the tip of Manhattan.  

I haven’t spent much quiet time, listening for and listening to the whispers of my muse.

My dreams of painting her portrait,  sculpting her form or singing her praises

have lain dormant, her guidance unheard against the din of the 6 train

My chosen profession has kept me at the mercy

of those that boast

 they are cyber challenged,

 Can’t Word

Can’t Excel

Can’t logon

 Won’t boot

Got no mail

Can’t work

lions and tigers and bears, oh no

And at the other end of the spectrum

The barbarians are truly at the gates

 The black hats are hammering against the walls

 The walls setup to keep those within

safe from fires without

It’s phishing and malware and bots oh, no

Yes, phishing and malware and bots


Otherwise occupied

As tech villain for failure to help them compute

or hero for turning off their cap lock

And boy with his finger in the firewall

 Keeping the bad guys out

I haven’t spent much quiet time

 Listening for or listening to the whispers of my muse

My dreams of painting her portrait, sculpting her form, or singing her praises

Have lain dormant, unheard through the Cacophony of noise of daily living

and the roar of the 6 train


This past year I have been able to spend a few minutes
Culled from the absence of rushing to and fro
To see that the haze has cleared and cacophony been silenced

To see her beautiful form and hear the wisdom of her musings 
And with her hand on mine

transcribe her whispers into song.

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