On top of the desk sits a soulless computer     
A breathless, robotical mental intruder         
With memory chips that you know ain't alive     
Attached to a modem with printer and drive      
You turn on the thing and you do nonetheless    
But log into lounges on some BBS                
The video screen and its technical wiring       
Begins to transform into something inspiring    
                                                
The thing on the desk that you called a computer
Is looking at you like a passionate suitor      
It makes you all fussy while typing in chat     
Along with the E-mail your getting thereat      
You see your computer alive with a soul         
A friend and a lover that you can console       
But one thing you couldn't have ever predicted  
Is how it has got you so madly addicted         

Copyright ©2000 Ron Gregus 

I really like Ron Gregus's poetry, look him up at Poetry.com