Chained to the pocket

Dopamine’s rocket

Distraction device stuck by glue

And try as I might

Though I hold it so tight

Of my fingers: watch the hours slip through

So I put it away.

I abstain for a day.

From the drawer, I hear Babylon’s din:

“You’re in exile, slave!

And you’ll swipe to your grave! ”

Out it comes once again to blend in

With my knees firmly bowed

And just one of a crowd

I remember the truth of a king

He’s the one who’s not dead

Who holds me tight instead

And he whispers: “Stand up, and breath in ”

And the air! It’s so clear

Standing up from the fear

Of a culture and king decomposed

For the babe of nativity

Gives us life not captivity

With him king Bab’lon’s lies are exposed!