Requiem for an iPod - By Benjamin Clifford

The black tendrils of information technology flow from
a silver stream bound with the hide of a
cash cow

A well of knowledge fed from a rich spider’s web jacks
the consciousness of the younger
generation

Vanity, thy name is customization: naming ceremonies
mean nothing while the lists compete for
dominance

An insect’s metal shell leers at the misinformed, for in a distant past
they once knew what it meant to
dream

The pods once lost in the void of cyber space have finally found
a fertile ground in which to
fester

The creators lie: the chains of restriction are meaningless
while the stations connect in glorious
harmony

The written page has died along with the shining black expanse
which once poured from a white
canister

The holy warrior of the Media Gods is to blame, but our will is
forever gone to rest in the silver
casket

Digital bards sing for freedom and gain only anonymity
while the junkie hoards swarm the
directories

But we will have the last laugh as the merchandizing demons
fall back into the very pit of obscurity from which
they were spawned from in the beginning of
time and destiny…

The Complexity of a Tranquil Mind - By Benjamin Clifford

Blood and death shall flow together to form a
never ending cycle of pain and suffering that will only end
once the moon reaches its last zenith during
the second coming of the apocalypse

The fires of the heart shall burn and flicker in
the darkness of a disillusioned world as
the corporate ghouls run rampant in
the rubble of a broken dream

A holy warrior shall appear, his sword shining with
the blue light of truth as he does battle with
the foul ignorance of the next generation of
media addicts

Our leader has died but we withstand his burden
and charge with cries of rage into
the torn wasteland of a dream to fight
the grotesque mockery of Justice forever more

The fallen angels of yesteryear do not cry
for they know that the fear and loathing of
our society will give birth to
a new age of hope and prosperity