The bell tolls for me
even though in my head
I wished I could sing
with its deep harmony of bonging fury.

The end is near and yet far away
from here as I witness my self
relying on machines to do the work and
working to create more machines that will work for me.

Why must I listen to the
corrupt noises of my soul
as I wonder about the future that will only
be the past when I die and live again?

Eternity is a lash in the eye of
infinite love
that the furies have unleased upon my life
as it evermore nears its ending.

But hope exists in my imaginary imagination
that machines may help me to love on
despite the bite of my crude stubborn ego
that may someday release its self from me.

For words are merely the hopes and dreams of
all mortals who aspire to be more that their station permits
yet who are plunged back to their bottomless-ness of
indecision, depression, and poverty of love.

Relating to my self there are mere sounds
of the deaf bats and visions of blind cats
who prowl around the belfry of
the tolling harmonious fury.