Today births a new brood
A race of mindless clones
Of wakeful dreamers pining for a fix
Always hunting for the perfect selfie
Once their forebear's palate knew wine
A well cooked meal could make them Wax poetry
Those days now gone
Now all hope is lost
No eye or mind to see Picasso's Abstracts
And the genius of Van Gogh a bore
They wake to the first ping
Hand glued to their deity in a fevered Blur of strokes
They tweet and stream to their god in Hand
And at night their sleep a faint ghost Of of what rest should be
That faceless lifeless beast that tags Along everywhere the 'cool' takes Them
Ethereal and all-knowing it is
The god that fits perfectly in the palm of their hand
Adieu to the old gods and goddesses
There is a new god and his name is Tech!