Prisoner of the Palm

You’re now a Prisoner of the Palm.
Your jailer’s your hand-held device.
You think it keeps you clear and calm,
But when IT thinks, you’d best think twice.
To see all the cosmos, in grains of machinery!
(But please don’t look down, as a car is approaching….
And have you forsaken the hills, and their greenery?
Or the waves on the bay, with its whales as they’re broaching?)
It’s a friend when you’re lonely, a map when you’re lost;
As long as you feed it some power.
If not, it’ll act like a love, double-crossed,
And the blackout will cause you to glower.
So worship your palm-friend, and show it some care,
As you cast your eyes down, and avoid real people.
It’s a prison of pleasure, a calm lion’s lair,
And a church for the masses (but one with no steeple.)
You’re still a Prisoner of the Palm,
And very rarely out of touch.
But if you seek a healing balm,
You’ll smother in its cyber-clutch.