I dream of Cyberspace, <br />Where fantasies come true. <br />At least that’s what they tell me: <br />Into pastures new. <br /> <br />They tempt us with their adverts, <br />And make us click and click. <br />Encourage us to banter: <br />They must think we are thick. <br /> <br />New friends, they are suggested; <br />They make us write and write. <br />Addicted to their forums, <br />We type all through the night. <br /> <br />We make our social networks, <br />And play those silly games. <br />Our souls sold to the Devil, <br />We even lose our names. <br /> <br />This verse will make no money, <br />Unless you click my ads. <br />I really have to go now, <br />To chase the latest fads. <br /> <br />Just flick over that page. <br />It’s the Electronic Age. <br /> <br />Paul Butters <br /> <br />© 21\1\2011 (Couplet added to end,22\1\11) , Humberside. <br /> <br />(Written for the Triond site, which has ads on display) .<br /><br />Paul Butters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-poetry-as-we-know-it/
