I wander through an electronic maze,
A soundless specter without face or name.
I return endlessly, unable to stay away
Though it often seems a pointless game.

Here, I and others parade our facades
In a fantasy world of our own creation.
The identities we use and hide behind
For our pathetic attempts at communication.

In this place, there is room for dozens
But those dozens are not in evidence.
I read messages; the postings of hundreds.
But among all this, I am the only presence.

All this I do from the comfort of my home,
Remaining now, as I have always been, alone.



The Aerie


Copyright © 1992 Richard E. Pichowsky