Eyes of the Panopticon

In a future cast by Bentham's sight,

A panopticon of endless light,

Where walls see inward, ever near,

The herald of a world's new fear.

Echoes of Orwell's grim tale,

1984, where freedoms fail—

Big Brother watches, always knows,

As panic in the populace grows.

A tower looms, not built of stone,

But of fears, into our marrow sown;

Surveillance masks as public good,

While truths are twisted, misunderstood.

This construct binds with iron grip,

Through every call and data slip;

The eyes of power, vast and cold,

Observe a story silently told.

The dread to come, on whispered breeze,

Flows through the net of watched PCs,

In every home, the screens aglow,

Reflect the watchmen, friend or foe.

Digital eyes, Orwell foresaw,

Now reality, without flaw;

Bentham's panopticon prevails,

As privacy, piece by piece, derails.

This circle of despair and might,

Reveals each shadow, bars the night.

Where once was hope, now only scans,

A world unmade by its own hands.

A caution for the time ahead,

Where dreams are monitored, and dread

Becomes the norm within the walls

Of the panopticon that enthralls.

So we prepare, with quiet fear,

For the panic that draws ever near.

In our surveilled and scripted fate,

We watch the clock; mourn the date.

© Susie Stiles-Wolf