Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

Most of me wonders if we will become sickly with our own opinions 
Breathing in the never ending feedback loop of regurgitated thoughts.
Who could’ve known algorithms would be the demise a global nation 
Bringing free thought to its knees 
Here, I worry for the width of individual minds 
Hoping we don’t become even less of a good thing 
For somehow a World Wide Web turned out to be somewhat of a misnomer and a prophecy simultaneously 
We became more like cavemen than Picasso’s 
Settling forth the mundane over the abstract
With every nuance at our disposal 

But here I am 
No faculty nor reference to save me
Far be it, the word craft to express anything in full
I’m without a prayer