Marcy

It seems our  different generations,
Are somehow caught somewhere between,
As interaction becomes non-existent,
It’s now contained on a little screen,
Through the years we’ve learned that experience,
Has always been the best teacher,
The answer is not a computer,
Or the words of some preacher.
 
 
We have information at our fingertips,
But there’s no longer any common sense,
As all the things that we now see,
Are given with false pretense,
We see the figures on that screen,
And pretend that we now know,
Yet what’s the truth behind the scenes,
Does the blowing smoke now grow.
 
 
If you see it on a computer screen,
Doesn’t mean that’s what is true,
It’s just portrayed perceptions,
It’s not what’s right for you,
You can not hear that person’s voice,
Or the inflections held within,
You can’t know their changing expressions,
Or see where their hearts have been.
 
 
What percentage is just propaganda,
Is it staged for a dollar bill,
Because it’s all about the money,
But are we required to swallow their pill,
Information is easily altered,
And even love is now put up for sale,
Hopes and dreams can not be carried,
Stuck inside our children grow pale.
 
 
The carrot is dangled in front of us,
But it’s one we’ll never reach,
There’s no way to know what sand feels like,
By gazing at a picture of a beach,
The picture might seem perfect,
And it might even be of something real,
Yet what about our sense of touch,
If we’re all directed how to feel.
 
 
You might believe that you know,
How to cure the world’s current ills,
Just proves how ignorant you really are,
You probably swallow all their pills,
Get up off your lazy ass,
And take a walk outside,
You’ll then be looking at something real,
Not the things our computer hides.

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