Worship
Worship
Waiting in the Hawaiian Hiking café
for my breakfast burrito.
70’s music in the background
to a mostly millennial crowd.
Clueless to the tunes of my youth,
they communicate in the same vacant
words and sounds like their fathers
and forefathers before them.
Each generation oblivious
to the previous one.
Fearful of the red death
that their masters have foretold,
they wear little shrouds
on their faces in feral obedience.
Mostly they are in communion
with their modern gods.
The ancients worshiped
idols of wood or stone.
They worship the id and ego,
adorned in small handheld devices
that require total subservience.
Ignoring the flesh and blood
that surrounds them,
they upload their emptiness
into dead machines
hoping it will fill the abyss.
I look at the souls around me
as they worship,
heads bowed;
praising
exalting
glorifying
isolated
solitary
alone.
9.14.21
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