Across the empty beaches,
Beside the sounding waves,
We turn back to our inner worlds:
Our fortresses, our caves —
The irony that is our time:
The great facilitation
Of all things informational
Destroyed communication
The bitterness of isolation —
Once the province of the few —
Is now the common currency
Exchanged in everything we do
But we were meant to live together,
Love together, die together,
Face the heartache and the joy,
Vicissitudes of fate and weather —
But, we cannot aid or help
From within spheres of ignorance:
As summer echoes down the shore,
And no one’s there
To listen
