'The Call' a Poem by Leon Aarts (1982)

So,

this is the life of past generations?

Hello

long lost relative

Do you, still require the sins of this deceptive age

of Imagery,

Not reality? 

Yes?

The boundless beauties of this plastic age

bubbling so fiercely

in the pool of this universal domain!

Still,

the piercing howl of sirens

sends us into brooding

the telephone Jumps

into the jittery hands of the receiver

Speechless and numbed into a dream

No!

a nightmare of horrorful sequences

Each, leading to nowhere