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The Next Tomorrow
The television never stops murmuring atop hallowing cries.
Futuristic screens never seem to dim their luminescent glow.
Hands grow accustomed to our own personalized key into society,
Intertwining its glossy curves around our skeletal touchscreen activators.
Watching and gazing into the empty darkness that fills our brain with questionable pleasure,
We become but almost nothing that we set out to be once.
Rotting in the ruins of war-torn bean bag chairs with midnight shaded sunken eyes,
There we remain- supposedly living.
Life has become repetitive and unsuspecting,
Consumed by the cyber world that fails to be found in present-day reality.
Alarm bells cannot echo loud enough to snap us back to square one.
Pathways to the next tomorrow set ablaze the past of the next today.
Welcome to the future!
You can leave your ambitions at the door.
Copyright ©
Keely Breen
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