The black mirror you stare at so long and so hard
Has attached itself to the palm of your hand
To show you the breeding of chaos worldwide
And all that doesn’t belong to you
And all the things you want to own
And all the things you never will
As the moments pass by
The black screens flicker
Thousands of words and images fly
Bewitching your eyes
Numbing your brain
With half truths and lies
And glimpses of thoughts you’re too busy to grasp
As you peddle on cycles inside the gym
No sun, no rain, no air, no wind
You’ve forgotten where the real roads begin
You never look in anyone’s eyes
screens
This Old Pub
this old pub
on a Sunday morning
both i and the timbers
soaked in stale beer
from the night before
my mouth is like sawdust
my head thumps
as the cricket bat
thwacks the ball
on sports TV
massive screen
too loud for me
the old guys in the corner
squint up at it
between backgammon moves
at their table
as they crunch
through their crisps
and pork scratching
my eyes droop
and I’m drifting
through galaxies
the stars turn
and spin me
into older stories
the challenge and change
of the days of old glories
are lost in a haze
stamped out
by lethargy
and drooping inaction
as we watch the big screens
that swallowed us all
In my eyes
I may not deserve to be loved
but I have served my time
in the hard knocks school
maybe breaking some rules
but trying to learn
Too long I have felt as if nobody feels me,
wrapped in a bubble that touch doesn’t pierce
locked in a transparent vacuum,
surrounded by screens,
trying to silence my head
‘I see nothing but love in your eyes,” she said
Her words raised me up from the dead.
The Dreaming Path 