by Jim Rapp
were kept secure for his time;
kept safe in the vault of his mind.
are lost when the mind wafts away
or rots under six feet of clay.
drifting and shifting they ply
their trade in an unsteady wind.
engraved on stone, solid and sure,
or baked hard on tablets of clay.
bones, seashells, the handles of staves –
man preserved his musings and raves.
the task of discerning, among the rents,
meanings lost in the frequent lacunae.
only by accident survived ‘til the day
they would be known – for a while – by posterity.
Compiled in books and stored in archives,
the wisdom of man has sought to abide
despite the ravage of war, weather, and time,
to say nothing of the censor’s arrogant pride.
Now we’ve begun to presumptuously store
our thoughts in an ephemeral “Cloud” –
without weight or substance, our digital lore
resides at the will of the Keepers of Clouds.
So we’re back again to no guarantee –
mischief or “outage” may conspire to betray
the trust for which we dearly (and monthly) pay –
in one instant the Clouds may be swept away.