one thing at a time.

impersonal chance immerses realities

like a prayer, whispered, across the still lakes

and useless computers commend our amenities,

machines decide our dislikes, appetites, and our tastes

and ourselves, we abide-

where common ground can be found,

but our minds, where we hide,

tasteless thoughts giving ground

to insane, inhumane, acts unseen and profane,

lonely statues of thought causing strain on our veins

all these pain prickling senses

are like fences,

preventing entrance,

bound and bottled and listless,

only knowledge prevents this,

hear the waves, of your sound,

all around, it surrounds,

all the walls you put up only you can knock down

and the hate you create dissipates

into fate and we think that we act

when we can only relate.