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a Dec 2017
our minds
are worn away
broken down
by the era of technology
feelings destroyed
thoughts disappearing
minds dwindling
the originality we once had
has washed away
Garrett Burger Dec 2017
.
Without knowing places, my place it seems
Looking for the best, the attention.    a scheme
Writing for freedom, rightful, a taste
A taste of satifactury
A taste of bliss
A taste of all the wonderful things I miss
For looking in darkness where it can not be found
Searching for answers
The ones you don't know when they're found

Granulated light, from the bedroom abyss
I wrote this in hopes to remiss
The things about you that I almost see
Guess the open door to this cage gets the best of me

Too tired to see, with eyes wide open
I dropped the key, I closed the shackles
No need for this. Running too much a hassle
Staying put in my cage, so addicted to castles

I willingly stay in this dungeon
Just to remain closer to the stories
That were once told
To me, to us

I've had enough.
I know the story, the only way out
I lay down the screens
Technology, you are the dragon.
Guarding this castle, you keep me in.
A distraction, of many, I see the curse.
I will see you as a tool, to remove this thirst

We are who we are, what will be       will be
Appealing to the masses means nothing to me
Along in this journey, out of the castle
The mightiest stance.

Alone in the beacon,
I fulfill these plans
To leave the stories behind
Goodbye, the castle
Sometimes, poems don't seem fitting to have titles. Spiratic, unrestricted, undirected writing forms itself as it goes. And while sure, the poem may have a perfectly fitting title once it has been heard, completed. Though why spoil the escalation ahead of time, with a title that shows the end at the beginning. Telling the reader what it is before the words in the poem even knew, just isn't right to me.
Black Jewelz Dec 2017
It is the 23rd century,
The other rebels are showcased in the penitentiary
In the city’s center street
To gratify the remnants of the sensory.

They’re beheld through double-paned hybrid walls of palladium, aluminum oxide and diamond;
In each cell their own reflection’s seen

Endlessly.

There is no blue sky, no scent of trees;
The cells’ sounds rebound and resound

To promote censoring.

It all began in the 21st century;
Now, ancient relics are kept in a technological cemetery,
Guarded by a sophisticated sentry.

Unbound knowledge damaged our brains,
Progress became our shackle and chains.
We—humanity—became dependent like a candle and flame
And gradually, drastically, society managed to change.
All who resisted were banished in shame,
Then our history was lost; I’m lucky to even know my family name.

I am the last rebel.
I know of tambourines, timbre and treble.
I know of beauty that once made men tremble.
I know of the past gods;

Before we made the last devil.

Now we are the drones.
We mass-produced their bodies, now we are the clones.
Now they think, speak and feel for us—we are just bones.
We built our father’s house upon these rocks:

We are the stones.

If any should read this before the ripples of time dwindle,
I’ll be plain: we surrendered human expression to digital signals and symbols.
We once made music from thimbles and cymbals,
Praised the Lord on the timbrels,
Shouted aloud atop the shingles.
It was all so profound, because it was so simple.
Eventually what the experts, geniuses and pros found
Was a way to hose down

A waterfall.

Now, propriety is: No psaltry, poetry or piety.
The cemetery holds the devices which ushered the end of society.
But I have seen them;
I devised a scheme to sneak in silently
And study the history privately.

I was stunned. Stricken, as with fear,
And for the first time in years
My eyes leaked with tears.

If I could talk to them,
If I could ask a question,
If I could somehow call,
I’d ask why—just why did you allow it all?!
How could you not foresee the downfall?!
Why did not some societal siren sound off?

Speaking of sirens...
Oh, no...
They’ve found my lair...
See, this is why I’ve found fault!

Now I am a rebel—a renegade—forced to live like a groundhog

Simply because I seek to enlighten and warn all,
Like one who foresaw
The siege of Warsaw.

If this is ever found, preserve my last words:
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION

Signed,

The Last Outlaw

Reed Jobs X
Ira Desmond Nov 2017
This Time-Lapse Video of
Disneyland Transforming for the
Holidays Is Truly Magical

The Deepest Fish Ever
Captured Is So Ugly I Want
to Throw It Back in the Sea

Sounds Like Ant-Man and
the Wasp May Have a Major
Impact on the Marvel Cinematic Universe

Watch Amputee Monkeys Control
Robotic Arms by
Changing Brains

The White House's Christmas
Decor Looks Straight Out
of a Horror Film

An Asteroid Will Pass
Near Earth Next Month But
No, You Don't Have to Worry

Hold Up, the New
Jumanji Movie Is
Actually... Good?

Over 75,000 Evacuated in
Bali as Mount Agung Spews
Gigantic Clouds of Ash

Your Dark Side Shrine Needs
This Burnt Darth
Vader Helmet Replica

The End Credits
Scene of Justice League Has
Been Bugging Me
Aaron LaLux Nov 2017
Tourists touring temples taking #selfies,
body’s there but souls not,
like Techno Ghosts back from the future,
not here to save the world just here to take a few shots,

but my body is my only temple,
and true enlightenment comes from the absence of Self,
so selfies seem silly to me,
in the same way as trying to wear pants 2 sizes to big without a belt,

or I guess a better analogy would be,
trying to wear a heavy belt without a buckle,
and that thought’s deep better yet heavy,
like Axel Rose those thoughts are heavy metal,

which makes sense especially if you’re an alchemist,
and believe what the Kyballion says about how everything’s metal,

yeah that’s heavy,
heavy as Heavy Metal rock,
being played by the US Army,
in Baghdad with the volume all the way up,

all the while spraying heavy metals,
in order to weigh down moral,
but what does any of this have to do with #selfies you ask,
well listen and I’ll tell you,

narcissist egos created this mess,
force used to push an agenda,
because when we’re too focused on our “selfs”,
we lose sight of the big picture,

like taking #selfies at temples,
and not seeing the beauty around you,
like drowning out the sounds of nature,
with the playlist on your iTunes,

it’s all kinda ironic isn’t it,
it’s tough having morals when complicit in any empire,
so I try and escape to exotic landscapes,
like Malagasy rainforests or Tibetan Temples,

but when I get there I find,
to my disappointing surprise,
a bunch of tourists on their phones,
only remotely living their lives…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Cameron Nov 2017
Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its membrane wings, thin plastic,
Its precious lifeblood, oil.
Humming from flower to flower,
It never strayed from chartered paths.
Proboscis feeding, but never tasting,
Body consuming, but never growing.

Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its brain, a mother board,
Its memory, four hundred and ten megabytes.
******* up all the nectar,
It never imagined the damage it would do.
Sensors scanning, but never seeing,
Motors whirring, but never beating.

Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its cold limbs, now crippled,
Its power, all run out.
Collecting dust on a barren field,
The butterfly never lived, and so it never died.
It moved, but never thought,
It flew, but was never free.
Jewel M C Nov 2017
AVOID EYE-CONTACT

        / don't blink /

you don't wanna know what THEY might think

make sure your movements stay in-sync

                            * * *

   be sure not to draw any attention

     ignore the subtle apprehension

that you may be in an alternate dimension


                              * * *

       don't let your lips move while you speak

wipe off your tear-stained cheek

        don't let THEM think you're weak

just pretend you’re playing hide-and-seek

 

but don’t let them find you

& make sure you’re hidden from THEIR view

you don’t wanna get lost for good, *do you?
Jewel M C Nov 2017
"places near you..."

faces near you?

     stop pretending

          that they can't hear you...

you're in clear view

& they're following you too
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