Bright screens push images
Into our minds
We absorb willingly at first
European Beach Grass
King of invators
Sucking the drops from the sand
Like a 49er
Starving the natives
The clock watches
You can’t want what you don’t know is missing
It makes me sick
The stagnant generation
so talented in selective amnesia
The lost art of words
held in the hands of a curious few
 Refusing to be numb
Refusing to be blind
Refusing to be a sheep
The tipping point is near.
I’m tired of the screens
being plugged in to the images
while out generation waits 
for the writers and movers
I no longer want to be numb