Stream of Keyboard

How quickly do my thoughts proceed, to travel to the computer screen!
Slower only than words from lips, they jump right off the fingertips.

This isn't writing, this is talking with my fingers.  

Writing was an ancient art when men chose wisely the stroke of the pen,
In fear of needing to make amends.

The quill by candlelight has long grown dim. 

Exponentially increasing streams of data: originating from humans and counted by machines,
You don't exist unless you can be reached by hyperlink.

Just keep pressing on.  The pistons of the machine drive on as words become 1's and 0's and my fingers refuse to stop.
Pause.  Meditate.  Think.  Create.