By Mike Johnson
If I snagged the largest piece of wishbone,
Iíd wish for the demise of the cell phone.
On the surface, it appears your productivityís grown,
In reality, itís turned you into a drone.
Distracted by access to all that is known,
Youíve abandoned the people you love, to be alone.
Totally unaware, youíre immersed in the zone,
Texting distant family, yet ignoring your own.
When itís suggested you need an Apple chaperone,
You respond with a denial in your angry tone.
Then you hide by installing the earphone,
To shrink the size of your approachable cone.
The cell phone is the cabalís technology capstone,
It steals the generous hours God gave us on loan.
It prevents discovering the divine souls we own,
Deviously, all the way from birth to tombstone.
The masses stare at their devices as if clones,
Worse, they pay for the privilege, a financial millstone.
If you watch Star Trekís ďThe Game,Ē youíll certainly groan,
Because itís a mirror of yourself being shown.
Addiction replaces reality, makes discord seem smooth baritone,
But the breast that sings that song is filled with silicone.
The hits of endorphins feel as valuable as gemstones,
But youíre so hooked, you need a course of methadone.
Will you ever awaken? Ever notice our cologne?
The person youíve become is totally unknown.
Youíve become the feet, we're the cobblestone,
Please come back, that damn phone has left us alone.
Locked in Their Cell
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