Wallowing in the information abyss
Children playing in alphabet soup
A splattering of letters mixes with
Never changing streams of thought
Slipping away before they congeal
Leaving nothing of value
In their wake
Half truths, no truths, twisted words
Purveyors grasping for pieces
Hoping a length of tape
Can hold these fragments as one
Long enough to garner
Admiration and respect
And then they are gone
Segments reappear with
Signs of wear as each attempted use
Peels the shine of potential
Brilliance from each letter and word
The newness gone
Admiration and respect wane
And players pray for a new batch