Dead Sanctuary
Where we all belonged
Talking heads spewing propaganda like religious chants from screens.
Turning my head to avoid the poison and escape the reprogramming of me.
Holding five fingers in front of my face, but those around me tell me there are only three.
Bright purple, red, yellow, and green colors I see slowly fade to black and white.
The mall has turned into a dead sanctuary like a "Dawn of the Dead" B-movie. And I am a zombie trying to recapture a pre-COVID vision that has been stamped out by those on top of the untouchable food chain.
No more mom-and-pops; no more kid-filled merry-go-rounds, only the homeless, oldsters, and loners sitting on benches watching construction workers tearing down sections of this temple that once housed the "American Dream. "
Reprogrammed youth buying from screens in their pockets, as car-jockeying gig workers bring their orders to their doors.
No more social interaction; no more people watching; Only the ghosts of the once-glittering temple with a now-empty parking lot.
Here is a new song by Celtic Brother using my poem:
About the Creator
Chet Dembeck
Chet is an award-winning print journalist who has covered technology, government, and the Pentagon for news organizations across the Baltimore/Washington corridor for decades. He also edited a healthcare newsletter.
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