Invisible Ink
random poetry
The living room now front and center blinks screens of flashing white,
Where three bored souls lie hypnotized under the neon light.
No wars are fought with iron blades, no chains are forged in steel,
Yet, Call of Duty made them feel as if their angst was real.
If Van Gogh walked these streets today, with absinth in his sighs,
He'd have a pill to erase the paint and wash away his eyes.
"The stars," they’d say, "are hydrogen, no more than helium, and space,
No need to feel the pain swirling, or pray for divine grace."
They’d calibrate his heavy heart, and fix every addiction,
Edit his mistakes and flaws, diagnose creative impulse as affliction.
He would not touch an ombre brush, or feel the lonely ache,
He’d scroll through feeds of digital art that someone else could make.
Dostevski’s existential dread and notes of the underground,
Buried by a thousand streaming shows to keep his spirit bound.
A sitcom for his desperate debts to distract him from his crime,
An artificial voice, the narrator for all time.
"Why write, why paint?" the doctors ask, “to serve a brain imbalance”?
“Set out to find a real job that matches your quote ‘hidden talents’."
They would watch TV instead of questioning God at night,
Bingeing psychotic episodes and screens that give them sight.
Even Shelley’s wild ideals would burn out like birthday flames,
Turning alpha stallions into pastel ponies, it's all fun and games
An avatar to follow laws, a mood to simulate,
A forum where rebellious thoughts would instantly deflate.
Idea algorithms, like invisible ink,
Erases modern mystics and trains us not to think.
"Science!" shouts the moderator, "Do not believe your eyes.”
They've cured the madman of the past, and debunked all his lies.
So sit back my now darling dears, and watch only the best,
Selectively curated, so you can lay back and rest.
No need to bleed your soul on paper,
For art, like a mid evil ghost, is just a transitory vapor.
The greatest minds are sleeping now, anesthetized and calm,
The matrix and it's coders clap, moulding spirits in its palm.