Sunday, July 8, 2007


Turning cogs of the mechanical machine
In the midst of the condominiums
Sparks fly to the artificial brain
That surges forth with uncanny wisdom
None of which is proven to be accurate
Vanity no longer exsists on a realistic plane
Stanzas of data are fed into its brain
Without regard to human emotion
Or as to what the soul needs
Voices are no longer needed
Opinions are turned into syntax
Upon a blue screen that evokes slumber
Folded hands are about thee
As the chambers are closed indefinetly
While the gears turn in constant turmoil
In the metropolis that never sleeps
At the gates of entry which are barred
That serve as extis to those who may inquire
Individuality is a dream of the past
Unless the giant brain allows it to be so
Energy is diverted into greater means
As each day ticks by in the clicking of the gears
That determine the outcome of each day
Under a dying sun that no longer gives warmth without permission
In the crimson sky that revolves around
Machines who cannot feel emotion
Or know the meaning of colors or music
Because humankind has made it so

© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

No comments: