Technology is an island close by
With data written in the pink sand,
With legibility and accessibility
The major concern,
Reaching out to millions
With sympathetic arms
And tears of compassion
In its unselfish manner,
Written high above the tides
For the intermediate
And at a lower level
For the novice,
Reaching everyone who enters
Through its scholastic gates.
Technobeasts live in dark caves,
A tribe of brutish intellects,
Hoarding technological secrets,
Too pedantic to welcome visitors,
And too pompous to reach out.
They live on their own secluded island,
Enclaved in glassy waters,
Veiled in a thick fog
With no wind to blow it away.
They reach into your mind
With technical jargon and
Laugh at your incomprehension.
When you almost grasp what they say,
They move ahead one more stage
In fear of being caught up upon
And revealing their own inadequacies;
In competition with humanity
Instead of being of assistance.
Too many buttons on the computer,
Too much technology to grasp
And conundrums to overcome.