There is nothing alive in the Living room

No there is nothing alive in the living room,
No one living or dead,
The Cat is a Zombie and the goldfish a ghost,
And the family are locked in their heads.

Ok, they're kind of alive in the living room,
But for the purpose of this poem, let's pretend,
That alive means some semblance of coherent connection,
To meaning and people and friends,

We need a new name for the living room,
Like the Lounge of the living dead,
With nameless headstones, made out of our phones,
The cemetery of things left unsaid,

Lets assume for the purpose of poetry,
That this kind of silence is absence of life,
Lets assume that the Dad is counted as dead,
If he wont even look at his wife,

Lets assume that the sisters aren't breathing,
Unless they look up from their screens
Let's assume from their skin and pallid complexions,
That they might as well be turning green,

Lets assume that the worst has now happened,
Now that we don't talk any more,
We've blocked out all the moans, with candied headphones,
Just to make certain,(for sure),

They've been scrolling for hours on facebook and Insta,
But nothing of interest lay there,
Except, maybe, their plastic wife,
With her perfect life,
And 500 likes of her hair,

Let us imagine the mechanical action,
Of fingers dragging down on the screens,
Are the nails scratching at  glass coffin lids,
Of a people buried in memes.

(Does the end justify all the memes?)

Let us assume for the sake of these verses,
That the utter absence of talk,
Is taken as a lack,
Of breath coming back,
And an incapacity to get up and walk,

Let's imagine the blue light that rests on their faces,
Is the cold light of heaven above,
Let us imagine they are being summoned,
To give account for their absence of love,

Let us presume from this lack of communication,
They've already passed into the great beyond,
Perhaps Dante's inferno, (the ninth circle of hell),
Called the internet, of which they're so fond.

Now there's four people in the living room,
Four people and two family pets,
They used to talk,
And go out for walks,
Lets just hope that no one forgets...

How...

And why.

I know an old woman who swallowed a lie,

Perhaps she'll die,

Inside.

I know a few more people who are swallowing lies,

I wonder why?

No there's nothing left alive in the living room,
No one living or dead,
The blue lights flicker over lifeless faces,
And everything left unsaid,

Like Sorry,
Like I love you.
Like forgive me,

what tears are for

You say,
For love we have so much,
The language of a tender touch
For anger we have words
And voices that are heard,
For fear we have screams,
For hope we have our dreams.
For these we make impressions,
In realms of clear expression,

But when in silence it falls apart,
And there are no words, it seems,
No pleading for lost dreams,

Somethings are just beyond repair,
And that's what tears are for.