Collective Psychosis: (2021) Poem by DM W

Illusions function
Like drugs. The elites deploy
Them constantly and
Certainly don't want to see
Them punctuated.
They busily resurrect
Brash, tribal idols
In order to crush dissent:
From faux flag waving
Fuhrers to crazed talk show hosts
Who spew out such bile.
Spectacles of consumption:
Money is a god.
Endless distractions speed by:
No sense of stillness.
The cult of the self now thrives.
We are obsessed with
Massaging our own egos.
We create little,
Vain-glorious monuments
In honour of them
We forget the beauty of
Life's tender moments,
That wise mystics once endorsed.
We blindly search for
Spurious eternities.