The day is done, the mind is tired and sore,
I ask for nothing, I expect no more
Than one good story, one small, sweet escape,
A simple narrative to give life shape.
And so I turn to the hypnotic screen,
The kindest, cruelest god I've ever seen.
It offers me the world on silver trays,
A thousand dramas, comedies, and plays.
A hero’s journey? Which one will you choose?
A crime that eighty different detectives lose?
A romance set in France, or Rome, or Spain?
A documentary about the rain?
An hour passes scrolling through the list,
My thumb is aching and my eyes are mist.
The perfect show I’ll never get to see,
Because its neighbour looks as good to me.
This heaven of a thousand open doors
Has made a prisoner of my quiet hours.
I came for comfort, for a simple quest,
And found the tyranny of 'what is best'.
Poet's Note
I wrote this after spending almost an hour scrolling through a streaming service, unable to pick a single thing to watch. The experience felt so ironic. I started thinking of the platform as this cruel god who offers endless gifts, but in doing so, creates a kind of paralysis. This poem is a commentary on the "paradox of choice"—how the abundance of options in our modern world can often feel more like a burden than a blessing, stealing the very peace we were seeking.