Virtual silence commands
that with masks
our voices be silenced to whispers.
And the body language of touch
denounced to elbow knocks.
All sensation denied but codified greeting.
Show me love with no embrace or kiss, nor touch.
Virtual silence in hospitals as loved ones die
with no comfort from family or friends,
all human virtues robbed.
To robotic machines has man condemned himself.
His end not marked by any funeral. No vigil either
as by undertakers we are whisked away
to an unknown final resting place.
Monitored by cameras we view departures
as near to us as virtual monitors can allow.
With virtually no farewell touch of dust
which in pain we cast all to the grave,
a vain hope which afforded us closure.
Will this virtual funeral give us rest
where our beloved die and virtual shadows replace people?
Copyright © Mark Meck | Year Posted 2020
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