Moon at Half Past Noon

A flash of heat inside the brain,
A sweet, familiar, pleasing pain.
The world, which was a tangled mess,
Now finds a perfect, sharp address.

A line is drawn, a label cast,
The “Us” is right, the “Them” is passed.
A villain born in pixel-light,
A cause to clutch with all your might.

Each click confirms, each share applauds,
A universe where you are gods.
The algorithm knows your name,
And feeds you more of the same, same flame.

It feels like thinking, sharp and clear,
But feel the body, hold it here.
What pulses quick? What breath is held?
What story to the blood is yelled?

The jaw is steel, the shoulder stone,
A fortress built inside your bone.
The screen a shield, the words a spear,
A comfortable, delicious fear.

You’re winning, right? The side of good,
As every righteous person should.
The tribe agrees, the chorus swells,
A symphony of wedding bells… and funeral knells.

But late at night, a different tune,
A hollow in the afternoon.
A tired heart, a wired mind,
The peace you’ve been so sure to find…

It looks a lot like endless war,
Behind a tightly bolted door.
A constant, low, and grinding stress,
That dresses up in righteousness.

The world outside, a threat, a blur,
A monotonous, angry whir.
The friends you had, now left or foe,
In this new world you’ve come to know.

So look into the glass, and see
The one who holds the only key.
The face is yours, the grip, the frown,
The one who builds the wall around.

What if the cage has not a lock,
But just the fear to leave the flock?
What if the enemy you see,
Is just a forgotten part of me?

What if the switch you feel is thrown,
Is just a seed you’ve always sown?
A need to be, to belong, to fight,
To bathe in that electric light?

Imagine, for a breath, the load released,
The constant, straining battle ceased.
The screen goes dark, a neutral slate,
No longer ruled by love or hate.

To see the world not wrong or right,
But shifting shades of fading light.
A complicated, human song,
Where you, and I, and we belong.

The only thing to fear, perhaps,
Is never turning off the maps…
And never asking in the night,
Who loves the glow, who needs the fight?
Who trips the switch, and loves the spark—
Was it the world? Or, in the dark…