The Song of the Phone
by Richard
With fingers weary and worn,
And eyes heavy and red,
A person sits, all alone, forlorn,
A phone held tight in bed.
Swipe! Scroll! Swipe!
Through the newsfeed's endless flow,
And still, with a vacant stare, they type,
In the phone's pale, ghostly glow.
Tap, tap, tap,
On the glass, cold and bright,
'Til the sun outside starts to lap,
And shadows yield to light.
Oh! Men with sisters dear!
Oh! Men with mothers and wives!
Is it not their souls you should hold so near,
Not the screens that rule your lives!
Swipe! Scroll! Swipe!
Through curated, filtered scenes,
Where happiness is always ripe,
And life's a highlight reel, it seems.
Compare, contrast, despair,
In this digital, mirrored hall,
Is it joy that you find there?
Or the seeds of a bitter fall?
Tap, tap, tap,
In the silence of the room,
While the real world takes a nap,
And relationships wilt in the gloom.
Love letters left unread,
Conversations left unsaid,
For the phone calls, a siren's spread,
A connection to nowhere, instead.
Oh! But to breathe the air,
And to feel the sun's warm kiss,
To escape this digital snare,
And find true human bliss.
But the phone's grip is tight,
A constant, hungry need,
In the darkness of the night,
On its endless feed, they feed.
Swipe! Scroll! Swipe!
From dawn 'til day is done,
A life lived in a digital stripe,
A race that can't be won.
Tap, tap, tap,
Though their spirit starts to fray,
They're caught in the phone's cruel trap,
And they can't look away, can't look away.
With fingers weary and worn,
And eyes heavy and red,
A person sits, all alone, forlorn,
A phone held tight in bed.
Swipe! Scroll! Swipe!
In a world that's lost its way,
They've traded their soul, swipe by swipe,
For a screen's cold, empty sway.