So few even look
At the beauty of life passing by.
So few stop to think
Why the tiny screen beats an infinite sky.
Neural pathways throb and grow
With the clockwork demon's desires.
Indeed, they are not your own.
Technology against you conspires.
I fear these words may be wasted,
For attention is fading - and quick.
What's next in this race towards nothing?
Hurry, hurry! The thumb scrolls click, click...
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