Black Mirror or Just Dirty?

Letter to the reader:

This poem explores our obsession with entertainment, questioning how we trade real experiences for curated fiction. It highlights the dangers of dissociation, media-driven emotions, and misplaced priorities, comparing modern escapism to historical sacrifice. With a sharp contrast between biblical truths and society’s moral decay, it asks: Are we really in control, or have we let screens dictate our lives?

The opportunity 

to have a voice,

to be heard, 

to be seen 

& known.

What to write 

about one thing, 

to delve into

the pools of joy, 

happiness, 

or despair 

& grief.

What will help, 

what will be 

that one thing 

that will captivate, 

cause intrigue 

& have the reader 

turn their phone, 

face down 

to see what happens next.

Netflix, 

Prime,

Disney,

Neon, 

Apple TV. 

And so many other 

streaming sites. 

We blame

‘the black box’ that has pictures, 

once black & white, 

now not only in color, but 

HD,

3D, 

Simulators around the corner, 

Your job, 

Your social circle 

becoming obsolete. 

You want to see, 

Hear, 

Feel attached 

to a life on the other side 

of what used to be 

a large box attached 

to a wafer thin screen.

But who writes these shows? 

Who creates these wafer thin tv’s?

Series like black Mirror show 

a world of simulators, 

Of paradoxes 

Of being inside dating apps, 

Inside minds, 

Microchips in arms, 

Phones that rate your score 

which determines what 

place, 

bus, 

car you attain.

Are we really that far away 

from a world that regulates 

our acceptance from 

the likes your profile has? 

Oh wait, 

didn't your own friend circle say 

‘he's not to be trusted because 

he doesn't have socials’ 

or the apps in which 

you have pre-determines

his ‘cool factor’. 

His selfie game is fire 

so the trust increases. 

But when he's in the shower 

you best believe 

She's checking his DM’s. 

It's a minefield out there, 

a saying we have all heard, 

that we all relate to, 

we forget so quickly 

That when our soldiers came home, 

not that many moons ago. 

Those that fought bravely, 

that killed mercilessly, 

that witnessed decapitation 

a screen could never show you 

for the camera angle 

of their eyes did not hide it 

the way Hollywood does.

Do we forget about the women 

who worked the grounds, 

worked the factories for 

her ‘Ernie’ was gone, 

the question of his return 

unknown, 

yet as Clarice’s doorstep was 

greeted with uniformed men 

for those 15 minutes last week 

her hope in seeing her ‘Ernie’ 

diminishes every day. 

Sweeping the porch, 

grateful to never have seen the 

black car near her door she sighs, 

she looks out. 

What if she saw you now, 

what if she, the women of our past, 

who supported the men that kept our freedom 

as what it is today saw 

how you squander your life. 

Do your emotions really 

hold that much power over you? 

We crave longingly for comfort, 

for love, 

for companionship. 

We want grown relationships 

yet act like children 

when the isolation 

becomes unbearable.

Imaginations run wild, 

series on the black box 

begin to bring more 

'that's so wild’ 

concepts to the screen 

we let occupy more time in our evenings 

than those hours spent 

at the job the box successfully 

takes us away from.

Dissociative state 

is not just for those with trauma, 

for trauma requires an action 

to have taken place in

‘the real world’ 

but what of those traumas 

you allow into your soul every night 

through your eyes. 

The window to your soul, 

to your heart, 

why are you allowing such strong storms in? 

Why are you normalizing 

the decapitation of the neighbour 

by the woman with the wine glass 

staring out her window in 

urban America to be going 

into your home, 

into your soul?

Curiosity killed the cat, 

but what of the cat himself? 

What of the directors, 

the play writers, 

the scripts read by actors and actresses 

trying to validate the job, 

career their parents warned them against 

‘we only want you to be happy’. 

Happy or are you worried that all your sacrificing, 

all those nights looking after you're dearest 

when she had a fever would dismay 

the women in your book club for 

Bethany’s child has been accepted to law school. 

Certainty, 

the Israelites had 11 days, 

not 40 years, 

we talk of a sweet, 

kind 

and loving God. 

Dude made generations die in the dessert 

because they didn't do as they were told. 

We blame God for the darkness in the world, 

we say "if He loved us, 

if He cared 

He wouldn't let children be harmed 

the way they are shown in true stories 

told like ‘the sound of freedom’ shows. 

You missed it, 

you missed the free will, 

you missed the darkness not shown 

in the actions not taken, 

you missed the life you should have, 

could have, 

and would of had

if only you didn't wish to watch 

a fictional character on a screen.