in a kind of cyberlimbo — I feel compelled to address the situation. Among Facebook's allures, in particular, is the promise of undying significance about everything we have done, even beyond the grave.
|William Wordsworth lamented Lucy's death.|
In the following verses, I follow William Wordsworth's memorial Lucy poems, submitting them to a partial mash-up while following their structure and rhyme scheme in order to meditate upon this phenomenon.
She dwelt among untrodden ways?
Oh boy, you must be kidding!
She figured death was just a phase;
Online still did her bidding.
|Mark Zuckerberg: FB promise of eternal life?|
Friends send her birthday wishes.
"What's on your mind?" The question thrives,
Her answers sleep with fishes.
She lived well-known. Friends gave a damn
The day she ceased to be.
Yet still she glows on Instagram,
In Facebook memory.
Her passwords cluster in a file —
Panting, eager, breathless.
O death, where is thy sting, we smile,
When life online seems deathless?
No "check in" comes from her, of course;
Her "likes" no person sees.
She floats above the earthly force
That holds down rocks and trees.
Wherever she's tagged on a page,
She's free from all foreboding.
Each link she clicked on cannot age,
Forever stuck on "loading."