FacetwitHookerWotsupdocRubetubeandTickytockytoeA Poem by BeccyA true and evolving story.If you listen carefully, or indeed with just one earnestly sceptical ear, you can hear the scansorial mewling of influencers seeking to scale heights; as dunning and yapping in concert, they are both joint and several in their liability as they fill the endlessness of space with a billion megabytes of excruciating inanity. Meantime, the Billy no mates, of the tech world, remain diligent in their search for new ways to disconnect the great unwashed. Their largesse knowing no bounds as they log every last little titbit. (Oh, she had eggs for breakfast, how interesting,) (and look at him telling his loved one he's at a different place his smart phone tells us he's at.) Naughty, naughty boy! And all across the vastness of continents, midnight warriors in shapeshifting hoodies are active in their worlds of virtual reality, manipulating toggles and triggers and joysticks in unnatural seclusion, as CGI heroes and heroines are reborn again and again, and the whipcrack of gunfire is muted to a soothing lullaby, whilst the fox, as wily as those Billy no mates tech ninjas, wreaks havoc in the chicken pen. Nevertheless, life, of a sorts, goes on. Grain ripens, butterflies and bunnies abound; a new born lamb sleeps beneath the stars, cuddling close to mother, blissfully unaware; (though mother knows,) as does the mother in a famine stricken, war torn country knows her starving child may not see another sunrise; as fitful in her bed, she prays to her God that the men with washed hands and stones for hearts will somehow be forever stilled. But still the gulf grows, solace surrendered to lip service. It is as if we are his forever spinning forsaken creation. A lost tribe where dividend is prized over divinity and demons deify dark over light, their fat, bejewelled fingers replete with profit. No tongue paying heed to good will to all men, the natural order of things disdained; as the stars beneath which the lamb and the child sleep eternal, fall like vast hailstones, and the cleansing of both sinner and the sinned becomes less than chaff blown in the wind.
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16 Reviews Added on May 29, 2023 Last Updated on June 29, 2023 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
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