Temple of unearthly white,
Shining beacon in the night,
Moth-like, drawing towards the light,
Seeking icons, black or white.
High Priests robed in royal blue,
Welcome neophytes in too.
Throngs of faithful join the queue,
Latest offerings on debut.
A gentle chant can soon be heard,
Mouthed by fervent convert nerd.
Refrain then joined by zealous herd,
“iPhone, iPhone, Glorious iPhone!
How I long to make you my phone!
Without you, I’ll be trapped on my own!
Deign, in me, to make your new home!”
The Trinity greets my awe-struck faze,
On entering this most Holy maze,
As iPhone, iPad, iMacs blaze.
A young Priest meets my earnest gaze:
Wearing glasses, oh so Hipster,
And designer jeans by Ripster,
(“Borrowed” from her older sister),
Words pour forth at speeds that blister!
Fleeing from her siren call,
I promptly hit the glassy wall,
And barely manage not to fall,
Running, bleeding, through the mall.
Members of this brazen sect
Are very easy to detect.
“Friends”, by thousands, they confect
With lives that barely intersect.
Educated by Wikipedia,
YouTube and by social media,
Oblivious to the world exterior,
Desperate lest they feel inferior.
Pallid faces float by, serene,
Music fuelling the machine.
Eyes glued to the heavenly screen,
Every message must be seen.
The sun is shining bright today,
Flowers blooming, birds at play.
On their minds, it fails to weigh,
But that, to them, is quite okay!
27 May 2014
The author owns an iPhone, iPhone, Glorious iPhone……