Mechanised papparroid eye hunts its prey Incessantly snapping its subject Without limitation or exception a menace here to stay Its subject unable to escape its eagle eyed grasp Unveiling all in that uninvited moment,
Its target unopposedly brought to task
Nothing missed when the lens focused on its sight, Captured for all on which to ruminate and muse Feeding the media monster multiplying with might
With alarming uncontrollable fuse to abuse
No right to good mental health
Trifled and messed with alarming stealth Perpetrating an all encompassing voyeurism
Unable to be blocked or blotted out Truefully illustrating society's blinded need for opportunism
To be connected to and fed by virtual platforms with lies to tout
Serving the unseen with unimaginable power, unprecedented wealth In which its members in reality forever out of reach Yet to which many want to feel they belong,
Perhaps not understanding why mesmerised
Drawn to its vortex gathering its unwitting throng
Most journalists hungry for the next sensational scoop
With no sense of integrity, fairplay respect or privacy
Ordinary people hounded for graphic details after financial ruin, snooped
Allowed no sense of propriety to face their challenges without rivallery
Domestic abuse or catastrophic bereavement not allowed to grieve
Basic human rights of all discarded in the name of journalism to succeed
Endlessly taunted with rumours and lies about celebrities
Their exclusive minority club paraded in glossy pages Of ever growing numbers of tabloid magazine's vulgarities
Feeding the fantasy of an aspirational life, their envy it enrages
Perpetuating the negative by sewing seeds of endless speculation
Resulting in the breaking down of real communities in gilded cities
Shrinking perceptibly with lack of interest or even time for deep conversation
Their sense of pride cohesiveness losing with tragically growing rates of crime
Yet images flicker and flicker incessantly through technical gadgets We are denying our addiction to, and seemingly can no longer function without Reading their subliminal messages yet not knowing developing bad habits Time to switch focus to the life you find yourself in, yet daily doubt Without this compulsion or comparison to aspire to famous lives That really don't exist for most people who survive without clout Yet for those we perceive to live more comfortably still they aspire to strive Perhaps given the choice the notorious in hindsight, with blessings to count
Secretly may yearn to have their old life, where they had their real friends,
Their time, their space, the ultimate human right to a private life
The equilibrium of spending how they want their days to be
Yet not how they are now, however willingly, are forced to exist
Copyright Natasha Anne Kelleher 2011 All Rights Reserved No Infringement of photograph intended
