Taken for granted.
Relays of text
cascade the night,
from friendly faces
and faceless friends.
A current of liveliness;
A portal for the poor.
The layman's penpals await
no packet loss, no pinging out.
His smorgas of smilies
is second to... some,
but he'll never cry "NEVAR!",
because that's just foulsome.
He'll always welcome,
he'll always bid you farewell.
He'll nevar swear... upon his life
that he doesn't reserve the right
to curse, to abuse,
but that's not who he is,
for he is a nice guy,
and nice guys nevar do that.
Imagine his shock.
Chat is down.
His friends connect.
He wears a frown,
for it's not his fault,
nor theirs,
nor 'communist China',
nor the master and commander
of the forces.
'tis the world around him.
'tis the IT Security.
'tis the government repressing him.
'tis madness.
Farewell, chat. I'll miss you.

