Begging Vachel Lindsay’s Pardon

It’s not my fault, Vachel Lindsay.
I only came to read your words
And find inspiration.

I tried to find you in my house
But all the books in boxes
Are hidden from my eyes
Waiting for the paint to dry.

I would fulfill my mission.
I would find your verse.
I would toss kindling on my muse.
I would, I would, I would.

I found you on the Internet
(Though that is nothing to you).

The voice began without warning.
I lifted my head up, looked around.
A voice called out from the ether.
I calmed myself and listened.

Articulated and controlled,
Words perfectly spread,
Your words,
Marching step, step, step
Into my ears.

I listened for rhythm.
No.
For Inflection
No.
For dynamic.
No, no, no.

Words spoken cannot be unspoken.
Words heard cannot be unheard.

Beautiful words, your words,
Processed into perfect pointless diction.

Beautiful words, your words,
Rendered lifeless by a PC world.

And then a desecrated silence.
Boom, boom, boom.