Our own eyes
In glowing throngs, they stand, a sea of light,
Each face aglow, but not from stage's blaze.
In hands, small screens cast artificial night,
Capturing moments, lost in digital maze.
Their eyes, not on the spectacle, but small screen,
On pixels that record, not feel the beat.
They miss the magic moment's rise and fall,
The thrill of life that no replay can meet.
In every concert, play, or fireworks show,
Phones held aloft, a barrier to sight.
Through lenses, life's rich tapestry they view,
Yet miss the essence of the vibrant night.
For memories are made from lived delight,
Not through the cold lens of a phone held tight.
Such is the modern crowd's ironic fate,
To see, yet not see, until it's too late.
Artwork by Julan