There is no hiding place.
No santuary.
There is no refuge or font of peace.
Only a quiet anarchy.
But you will be fine.
Your truth will prevail.
Your amusement continues.
Your contacts still care.
They'll live for your content.
They'll die for your breath.
They can't live without you.
But what's up ahead?
-----:-----
No one is sure.
No thought is pure.
No line is perfect.
No freedom respected.
You'll lose the words.
And the forms in the text.
Those poor children of Instagram.
They shall be next.*
*To be honest I blame ... well it's everybody.
Ho hum ...
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