The Modern Vice

Cracking my phalanges ere I seek repose,
A ritual arcane that with persistence grows
Not mine alone, but mankind's common snare,
Enthralled by fleeting phantoms drifting through the air.

The azure glow of screens usurps the night,
And steals from weary minds their sovereign right
We scroll through endless corridors of vain delight,
Whilst reason wanes beneath artificial light.

We feast without reflection, consume without need,
And nourish idle appetites with digital feed
Minutes dissolve like mist on a forgotten fen,
Yet still we barter hours again and yet again.

The clock laments in silence from its gilded den,
Witness to the downfall of contemplative men
Each fractured crack resounds a subtle, solemn...