Sacha Hayes O'Grady

The endless streets are filled with drones,
Chattering on their mobile phones,
Who talk, and yet have naught to say,
Twittering all their lives away,
Like beings without flame of thought,
A petty web of dimness caught
Are they, and all their fellow ilk,
Who swallow so much corporate bilk,
Like flocks to a new religion,
Spreading their shallow dominion,
As a disease upon the earth,
Intelligence is at a dearth;
Designer wears that still look cheap
On the masses of mindless sheep,
Who spend their money with such haste,
Yet complain of government waste.

Without a credit card of late,
One cannot pass St. Peter's gate,
That shopping mall within the sky
Your frequent flyer points will buy
A seat to Heaven guaranteed,
Where you might starve for so much greed,
The price of paradise is steep,
For clouds make lofty real estate,
God's own pockets are wondrous deep,
And overpriced at any rate.
While angels on minimum wage,
Sate there preserving on each page,
The waste His children leave behind,
That misery known as mankind,
Wounded Nature knows all too well,
A glance before the angels fell,
From the cosmos to the tomb,
The light of our impending doom.