It's All Too Much! (Future Shock Syndrome) Poem by DM W

So much data:
Information overload!
And pop up ads of
Pointless nonsense. Where
The hell are we headed to?
Does anyone have
A detailed plan or purpose?
We scurry around
Radiant, virtual worlds,
Like jaded gerbils
On a never ending wheel.
Surely, this can't be
Happening! Our consciousness
Is perhaps reduced...
Indeed, corroded, rather
Than expanded, on a
Daily basis. Heaven help
Us all! Seemingly,
All this debris constantly
Floats round cyberspace.
It waits for us to pick it up,
We're like scavengers
At garbage dumps. That's the truth.