Like a blinking light,
The cursor beats its
Way through every line
I write

Every stanza 
Every line, and the 
Feet of every poem
I write, the cursor 

Beats, waiting for
My next line. Its there right
Now, 1,2,3,4,5 like
The pulse of this poem. 

It always waits for
Me, technology is a wonder.

Remember when plume to ink
To paper was how we wrote poems?
Without the hum of technology,
Knowing that our words

Would be indelible.