The networks never let us leave so soon.
Loading, scrolling, streaming - how we scour
to save distractions which our whims devour.
We'll forfeit thought for programs, games, a tune.
From plagues of data we've grown too immune
to truths, whose questions perish in an hour,
while follows, likes, and squandered social power
transport us backward toward some cool cocoon
where darkness starves potentiality.
We could transcend, be butterflies--reborn!
Instead, most log in, skim and flit, then flee
--no deep connection struck because they're torn
from purpose, promise, and profundity.
They think they live, but this is why we mourn.