Perfectly organised like an orange clockwork, a dispersed nest of ants across the globe, all but serving one queen.
These fortresses, without boundaries
floating on silicone rather than waters,
shadow governments and countries
without bounds, driven by quarters
they're ever collecting hoarders,
well dispersed across borders
serving their pale data queens
endlessly feeding of feeds.
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And the paleness becomes brighter
having defeated the last fighter.
It eclipses even the one unflawed
and I am not talking about God.
It's the beliefs, they vanish
all that's left, is a blemish
replaced by a new north star
anything but far, with 1000's of nits
and its personalized wits
it sends you a vision.
A precise & predictable swipe
making you feel kissed,
knowing that you are to thumb
to resist.
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And how can you
resist
the media.
This global solitude succumbs you
challenges you, for you are
the media now.
The challenges lay
over you, deafeningly dense
solidifying into ice cold waters
running down your skulls
YOU ARE READING
My Life, A Canvas.
PoetryForeword This poem is about adapting to change, adjusting alterations, remodeling redesigns, reshaping modifications, and about recognizing reorientation. Over the last few decades, we've experienced peak globalisation. Unfettered global trade a...
