Born to create, deceived to consume.
We think we are so royal and grand.
Brilliant and creative we do assume.
In truth a wasteland, at best secondhand.
We repeat what has already been had.
Or simply change what someone else has made.
Then stand proud as if an olympiad.
And continue this creative charade.
Remove for one day or even a week
the music and screens to which we are chained.
And you’ll crave distraction an empty soul seeks.
the stimulus that keeps us entertained.
You will loath after just three days alone
those worn out tapes still playing in your head.
That whistle you’ll bemoan as monotone.
And crave anything new that can be said.
Around day 4 you will soon realize
Your inability to just create.
A single original thought give rise,
With your mind so addicted to click bait.
In solitude I am humbled to see,
My peace rests on that which is external,
Rather than what’s been placed deep inside me.
Where a still small voice speaks the eternal.
Like a computer that needs a reboot
We have to unplug and turn off the noise.
Wake up your self ready to execute,
A masterpiece, which robot life destroys.
Copyright © John Grindle | Year Posted 2022
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