TidingsA thrum of words from cyberspace
Engages minds, as market news
Is stored in memory’s data base.
Stockpile of a human race
In ever swelling hoard accrues.
The keyboards clack, the emails race
The websites yield their endless views.
The angels wait: their ancient place
Is hi-jacked by an alien race
Whose words the mysteries abuse.
Oh, clear the words, let cyberspace
Delete the new, let old be heard.
Let angels’ song and praise replace
The logic of a chattering race
With tidings of the Incarnate Word.