The Message Board

The Message Board

The message board
Hangs its categories
On a mobile
Where they dip and circle
As the links themselves
Move though time.

Old schools of thought
Are fixed memories
But become unfixed
When links to the new
Become strong.

The message board
Is a waterfall
Which holds its image
As new water
Ever crashes down.

The message board
Is a thousand tiny windows
Which look out
As meanings become pixels
From a strange outside.

The message board
Is a wind
Which scatters all the ships
To other shores.

If the message board could sing
It would be
Many symphonies at the same time.

If the message board could love
It would look upon
All the suffering in the universe
And cry.

James F. Newell