xevvrimyst

What happens to an uninspired poem? Does it gather dust in a forgotten file on Microsoft word? Or does it take off from reality like a soaring bird? Does it ever find its muse, ready to enthuse? Or do its words disappear, never to be used? Maybe it just waits, until the words finally work. Or does it sit forgotten, only to lurk?

I, too, sing America. I am a part of the generation which talks in texts. They say we’ll never advance to the future and what is next. But I know that we are the future, the foundation of the new. Tomorrow we’ll be the innovators, all with new points of view. Nobody’ll scorn me the next time I talk to Brianna on Myspace. Besides technology is what pushes forward, us, the human race. I, too, am America.

"It's not forty-two." She was getting impatient, "I just can't believe that the answer to the universe is forty-two." The boy shook his head, her disbelief could lead to the apocalypse. Suddenly, a window blipped on his computer, "Go to www.lost.eu/726fb" it said. He didn't believe in the rubbish on the web, so he quickly IMed her back. Boy: No way Jose, I'm not falling for another one of your pranks. Girl: Well, I'm just trying to prove to you that forty-two isn't the answer of the universe. Boy: Yeah bu-- Girl: This is. Boy: :| Girl: www.lost.eu/726fb Boy: Whatever. It's probably a virus, right? Just look at that gibberish in the URL