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Poem: The Increasingly Grey World of Modern Inexperience

Updated on April 28, 2016

I've noticed an ongoing trend
For people to want lessened experiences.
And I find it hard to defend
This strive for abatement and weariness.

You live through a phone screen,
For fear of ever actually feeling,
So afraid death's gleam,
That you're afraid of living.

Just as when you move away for college,
You pick a fight with your secondary school sweetheart
To ease the transition but refuse to acknowledge
In either case, how much will death hurt.

And how much change will cause you pain,
So you aim for a future of impossible grey,
To take the power away from the darkness.
But, in doing so, inadvertently forget what life is.

Because we can't take the heights of happiness,
Without a frantic grab just to hold on to it,
And right then, like a bubble how it bursts,
Without you realizing your enjoyment has been cursed.

The phone screen becomes your simulacrum.
And you live through its hyppereality,
Making yourself numb,
And in the meantime, losing your sanity.

Because what is life, if you won't live it?
And endless sea of music without lyrics.
Music without anything that is at all implicit,
That needs armbands of hallucinogens to make it worth hearing.

Although, it's almost poetic to drag down an art form,
Then elevate yourself and call the artist a prophet.
But in the end so high is your platform,
You turn the whole world into a downer just to get off it.

"You had to be there," is no longer said,
Because, through stories, Snapchatted and spoken,
You might as well have been, and as for the rest,
Their experience lies, unlike their Snapstreak, broken.

As the light and darkness of existence are retreating surfaces,
We give way to windows and worlds of grey.
And ironically, in this world of superlatives,
Nothing surpasses the realm of day-to-day.

As we sit in bed watching the best films
Emanating form the smallest screens we own,
To desensitize any of its possible thrills,
Tweeting at the same time so everyone knows,

That we live in a collective existence of overwhelming nothing,
Complaining about the way things are.
Then keeping them the same, just how we like it,
And still, one day dream of being a movie star.


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