I was produced for listening pleasure.
Laser oscillations, my fingerprint,
Sonic vibrations, my destiny,
Often, as the background sounds to life,
My shape, though efficient, was not important.
But my soul, Etched in polymer.
The intangible process of creation inscribed,
Makes sound, a fluttering breath, physical.
I was the DREAMFEEDER.
The psalm before the storm.
Recycle me? Don’t be silly.
Only a fool would take this matter out of mother nature’s hand,
would try to preserve time by burning it into plastic.
Garbage now fills the land.
Here, strata of obsolescence
Crush me to bits,
Splitting my form, spilling my soul.
Surely, this can’t be the fate of the one
who feeds dreams,
The landfill feeding on me.
Pulsing with 44,100 hearts
I fed dreams,
but now, I am alone in the landfill.
With no one to listen, unable to speak,
I gather CDs and pick up the pieces
To help them tell their stories.
Now, the abandoned ones awaken!
Creations from destruction–
I am the DREAMFEEDER.