To The Silent Era (first letter)

I pretend you were the People’s meditation, a reoccurring, scheduled suspension of self, sound and concern, a distillation of of each fleeting instant, a purposeful reduction of the senses in order to reach the present moment, inner travels and revelations, reconstructions of the heavens, a glimpse of paradise lost extended for minutes, hours, in the smoke haze and through it, in the dark, amongst strangers, inside the fluttering light and nowhere.
The talkies never replaced you.