Who are you, sitting in that chair?
Gazing at that little box
Weary eyes, rollers in your hair
Grey now streaks once golden locks.
Past memories now fill your head,
As you punch the keyboard with your thought
Trying to find, the one to share your bed
Despairing as your search turns to naught.
You filled your profile with many lies.
Trying to pretend who you’d like to be
You do not hear your children’s cries.
Your head is filled with fantasy.
You type in words that are untrue
No webcam adorns your desk.
Even your Photograph is not you.
Taken twenty years in your past.
You long for romance’s sweet caress
Since he left life’s passed you by.
You have no life; your home’s a mess
You lie awake at night and sigh.
Each day we can find you sitting there
For this is the total of your life.
Computer screen and swivel chair.
For nothing else is in your life.
Robin A Spicer © 26th January 2004