Finger-Tip Power
Finger-tip power.
Galloping into a world of finger tip power were we no longer admire the beauty of flower,
We care more to acquire the excessive power— that same power that effaced those towers.
People falling too their deaths, others trapped and glowing red.
Hearing voices from within the furnace, a novel affording, my tears of disturbance, surface.
Never before in our progression, could the universe witness such tragedy, with such projection.
Let me ask you, who was to blame? Terrorists? Our government? …Their both the same.
Alas, we shall never know, case-close, frozen, in internet snow,
an avalanche of opposing views leaves very little to the truth.
This brings us to the point- information, rendered, void.
Just look at wikipedia if you want some proof of how accuracy has gone aloof.
It may seem human-kind is further afield, but our connection to nature, we no longer yield.
So how strong can one’s mind be? If the glare of our iPhone is all we see.
How can one really know if what he’s taught is to stop not go.
There breeds within a terminal illness, thats claiming the souls of all our realness.
George Bush can barely string a line yet we take his authority without a dash of lime.
As if we can trust a man of such stature, a puppet to the powers that inflict our fracture.
Allow me, to invite you all, open your minds to an empire, ready to fall.
How much more can we take before our laboured legs begin to break.
In a world of finger-tip power, we no longer care for the flower. We default to hide and cower because we are diddled and fleeced by that mythical power.
Copyright © Ben Wilson | Year Posted 2016
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