Who are you stranger but words on a screen?
Filling the silence of a continent between
This chasm of remorse and choices unscathed
The integral of elegy appears a mere moment delayed.

What is it between the random cliché
And aspiration that false modesty allay?
The beauty, the tragedy, or other arising
Betwixt the two whose fingers flying

Tell their stories in bursts and bytes
Dancing around the miasmic rites
While media in its circumscribed wounds
Obfuscates memes of heads and hearts attuned.

What say we now with voices, friend
When characters and digits betray our end?
What gests your face? Where search your eyes
A world away? What does facelessness disguise?

And yet a symbol, trite but haunting
On that same inhuman window, taunting
A response? But what can I disclose
To you, a stranger really, in intimate repose?