Modern Purgatories Poem by DM W

When all the veins ran out
of blood- wine, when all the roots
of faith were destroyed,
we had to rely on false
preachers and prophets.
The green age congealed quickly,
in an eye's twinkling.
Worship of idols prevailed.
Some would even bless
the bleached bones of a carcass,
rotting in the sun
of superficial longings,
rather than return
from darkness towards the Light.
Mass advertising
replaced time- honoured symbols.
O its garish signs,
atomised our consciousness!
Now we have to wear
the masks of mercenaries.
We are still forced to
listen via TV, which
I view with contempt,
to the squealing choirs of pigs
on Saturday nights.
These modern purgatories
are depressingly,
currently ubiquitous.
O when will it all end?
Technology is addled
with gremlins, and links
always seem, to be broken.
Blue circles spin round
and round ad infinitum.
It is farcical.
To hell with all these schemes
of planned obsolescence!
This page is not responding.
Asinine adverts
prevent dialogue's sweet flow.
The wars on our screens
are never really explained;
just part of endless
entertainment packages.
So called 'precision'
strikes create 'collateral'
damage on a vast
scale, as far as I can see.
Centres don't respond
to the periphery, in
an age where burning
questions are avoided at all
costs by cold and supine
bureaucrats.
Yet notwithstanding
all mind- numbing distractions
in the vast graveyard
of non- communication,
through virtual worlds,
I still peek through the cracks in
badly - made designs.
And one day soon, I would like
to bask in the warm
communion of one whom
comprehends me and
one whom I can relate to.