The Lights are On

We are baseless, intimidated, torn from the interrelationships from which we strive. Portions of psyche disintegrate and are replaced with pseudo synthetic replacements, the breeze from which becomes our glazed expression. A map is needed to chart our expressive dance, to realign our toes as they are hammered and stubbed. Who will open our doors? The keys lay out yonder, I simply wish for their immediate transfer to my hand, and to yours. Opportunity and direction will be our cry, and with information’s sleight of hand, we shall unite. We shall overcome, if not integrate this great change into the masses. Scream for once, let the ripples of fortitude articulate the future.