The footsteps distort
as the electrons dance,
never quite the same shape
each angle glanced or notices
as quarks shimmy about
inside charged particles
making things
change.
Will they stay?
Some warn of demise
to come in future days
as our electric desert blooms
into new fields swiftly
leaving behind barrens
where things
fade.
Is this true?
Will my footsteps erode
under the tides of technology,
as it advances towards goals
we still cannot see?
What marks remain
that I
existed?
No paper trail
can I preserve now,
under the onslaught suffered
as I wandered the wilds
of streets and hills
with no place
to call
home.
So, these sands,
verily silicon desert pans
that dunes of electrons froze
in shapes of words written
as my fingers danced
over keyboards often
are all...
fragile.
As if they
truly were just footprints
left across fast shifting sands.
Obliterated by time and winds
as change stirs media,
breaking bonds
down.
What mark, then,
will I have left,
who lack stone edifice's walls
for those who come after
to know there was
a man named
Dyfedd Rex
here....
in this desert?
Wanderings, utterances, writings, thoughts...
all rendered into shifting grains
as the electrons fly apart
seeking new array structures
and formats change
away from
impressions....
they once made?
Only the Fates know.
2 on the verge of 3 March2015 - Dyfedd Rex, wondering what his legacy truly will be.
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