*Illustration reference:
William Blake engraved
by Luigi Schiavonetti 1808
Smartphone Smartphone, burning bright,
Forever in your hand all night.
What manner takes this urgency,
That you will not let matters be?
You search and search long into morn,
Your burning eyes, the iris worn;
Choose not to give them mere respite,
Bereft one day of needed sight.
The heavy burden on your shoulder,
The embers of your heart grow colder.
With every hour you shall scroll,
The weight of it will take its toll.
What devil at most clever heights
Did bare have use for wraithlike might?
Has turned our frailty for regard,
To be ignored, to feel un-starred.
Tis like a chain around thy neck,
Unfit to keep demands in check.
Instead like lightning may yet strike -
You check if stranger might have liked.
To seek approval, to thirst in vain
Brings nothing but a futile pain.
Smartphone art gone, so freed I am;
Retreats the lion, and saved the lamb.