Saturday, March 11, 2017


We Are Digital

Heaven, help us

For we are digital
And do not know
How to wind a watch.

Heaven, help us

For we are spoiled
Born into electricity
And terrified of a candle's spark.

We are such driven people

Driven here, driven there
We don't know how to walk anymore
We don't know how to use our feet.

Babies come into the world

Reaching for cell phones
Knowing the words to songs we've forgotten
Dancing the latest dirty dances and, old.

Heaven, help us

For we are set on automatic
We respond in kind to deadened emotions
React as our programming dictates.

Heaven, help us

For we are milk-fed, soft-handed ingrates
We think that the world owes us everything
When we haven't earned a space yet to stand.

Our lives are played out on mp3 collections

Our music lives in the pockets of our jeans
Our souls are compartmentalized, our hearts, cold machines
And our spirits are hybrid, cloned things, not of God.

What do we do then, when the lights go out?

How will we live? What will we eat?
Where will we go when they hunt us and kill us?
How will we survive when the wolves rule the streets?

Heaven, help us

For the magazines tell us
That we're destined for greatness
And the history books tell us that we're destined for doom.

Heaven, help us

For we see the armies, and not the man
We see the forests, and not the tree
We think in plural and "greater good."

Gone are the days of clear blue skies

And smog free air
Our lungs are full of chemicals
That the drug lords sprayed up there.

Tonight, I sit by candlelight, writing

Trying to put my heart on paper
For somebody to find and read when I'm gone
And I hope that they will, before it's thrown on the fire.

Somebody in an unborn generation

Will have to discover that marvelous thing all over again: Fire
It's beauty, it's warmth, it's terror
For today, even the candle lights are fake.

Tomorrow, they will build igloos

Out of unplugged microwave ovens
Sleep in old bath tubs and bathe in the streams
Tomorrow, they will not know what we took so for granted.

Heaven, help us

For we are digital
We are numbers with faces
And we walk in our sleep.

Heaven, help us

For we are blind and bereft of love
We have made a mess of this beautiful planet
Turned it into hell as you watched from above.

©By Voo
Oct 13, 08
9 p.m.

I deliberately wrote this in a disjointed fashion, some verses rhyme, some do not. Because this is how the world feels to me just now. Disjointed. Waiting for the Apocalypse. Waiting for the End. Waiting for the Beginning. Waiting.