The following poem was copied from a handwritten journal. It is in its second round of edits. The words “echo chamber” were the catalyst for the structure and theme.

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Words written with care, by hand… 

Imperfect and imprecise. 

Copy and print on command, 

Straight from the mind, must be nice. 

Must be nice, to never think… 

To be part of the machine, 

Blind to humanity’s sink. 

Mini wars, wildfires spreading. 

Echo chambers ping messages, 

The same ideology, 

Philosophy… passages… 

Only, fractured men ramble-y. 

Thought or challenge of critique? 

Nope… there’s only bleak! 

Ask questions of opposite opinion? 

All stops, heads twist, eyes stare back… 

Mouths gnash, “It’s our dominion.” 

Rejected, not part of the pack. 

Alone, reading from the stack, 

Sticking to research and fact. 

The world’s gone utterly mad. 

FEAR, it’s NOT… a trending fad.