Instead of spending time with tech, I’d rather

Take a blissful walk down the street,

Where near the end stands a young tree

Placed there like a living landmark,

And appreciate the little things it provides.

 

Instead of scrolling with no means, I’d rather

Play like a little kid again,

Where near the tree, its roots emerge

To form a playground, free from the

Weight of Judgement and of Discourse

 

Instead of being shaped by filters, I’d rather

Love my own skin because never

Did that tree have a skeptic thought

About its trunk and its branches;

Beauty found in its carefree ways

 

But that tree never existed,

only as a desire, a

Mirage in a small, cold room

Where I continue doom scrolling,

With no apparent end in sight...

 

This tree longs to live in control

To experience the little things:

The uncritical,

Daring confidence,

Derived from freedom.

 

Yet it remains a small seedling,

Hampered by blue light, a wilted

Body glued to bed;

Awake there till dawn,

With no ambition...

 

...I'm a fallen tree.