The telegraph gave us hope.
Before was the silence and the panic it brought.
The sky was the blankest sheet.
We drew line upon it so sour thoughts could meet.
Through cables black and cold, we carried our intentions to bridge and bring home.
Would it all be so clear if the lines were erased, and the silence restored?
Boys of today write line on walls in streets at night in suburbs of cities with no name.
Is this destruction of just quiet protests against loneliness?
A cargo lies in our laps.
The weight is so heavy and this is all we know.
Our message will need a ship, to travel across the oceans that can't otherwise be crossed.
It undulates on the waves, and crushes the water so we can be safe.