I hope to create in this life more than a noise
and to leave behind, as I go, more than an echo.
It might seem like vanity, but truly
it’s an ambition. For my dreams are surreal
and my soul is electric
and I hope my words are not forgotten.

Ideas lose value, if they are forgotten,
And everything becomes just background noise
from the chatter to static electric,
useless gossip surrounding you like an echo
of the world so surreal,
that it’s no longer perceivable truly.

As for myself, yours truly,
I am not yet forgotten,
but saying “remembered” would be a bit too surreal.
As I try to tune out all the noise,
to avoid turning my writing into an echo,
my mind tunes into the steady buzzing electric.

Let’s keep our lives in a state of electric,
plugged into devices, as if we are truly
nothing but an echo
of our human nature, long forgotten.
Our ancestors would find the city noise
confusing and our lifestyle surreal.

We made our art surreal
as if life is not moving, not electric
enough on its own, as if we need the noise,
the disturbance, the distortion to truly
see what would otherwise be forgotten
like a fading echo.

Let your own words become an echo,
so they reach farther, even if they sound surreal.
Better that, than be entirely forgotten
in this age of electric
communications. Say what you mean truly,
and don’t become part of the noise.

We live in the age of echo, surrounded by the electric
and the surreal. I’ll make my words truly
my own, in hopes of not being forgotten or dismissed as noise.