Follow not the glow of television’s glare,
Nor lose time in the texture of pixilated screens,
Our eyes blur from the LCD focusing stare.

Distract yourself instead on the rotting pear,
The yellowing leaf, the star twinkling unseen,
Natural worlds wait your thoughtful care.

Beyond even those Romantic sublime seers
Probe further than the imagined dream,
And allow yourself to boldly declare:

“Our fetters are patterns thought here,
I’ll not ritually repeat a habitual gene
Predicting my action, nor repeat despair

Again and again. I’m heir
To my own thoughts; an intended scene
On which change is possible and aware.

We choose the chains which lash us here;
Our very thoughts the prisoning routine,
So I face into the windy air
And change my mind to follow my own prayer.”