Farewell, Figment

January 31, 2018

All things die even if you didn’t ask them to,

But from the crumbling software

Comes new glitches,

Snitches,

*******,

On forums made to wreak

Happiness.

A new group of un-nouns

Is waiting to share their stories,

And they’ll Underline this year

As their own,

Our own,

Feel the magic, please,

Of the possibilities.

This nostalgia is killing me but

This death won’t kill me

I’ll start anew

I’ll take the cyber sinew

Of this backwards network and

Clean the slate with my own two hands.

There’s nothing left, right?

A Figment of our imagination.

But there is a future

—Behind the missed deadlines,

Lost friends,

Conversations at their end—

Of programming pulsing bright.