Through the serendipity of a naive act,
A mere rumour of the bygone tale.
Perceived by a small offense,
Was the story of Riverdale.
A machine of parts and *****,
Built for an arithmetical crusade,
Channeled with high voltage,
The tool for every complex barricade.
For science has toyed with his destiny,
For his life was a written code,
For his face was made of metal alloy,
For his troubles laid on the same road.
For his calculations were neat as heaven,
As his binary numbers were perfectly synch,
Like the sun rising on an early day,
Like the rain falling on the same clay.
But the story took a seismic turn,
His mind was on a number's high,
When like lightning came she,
A thunderstorm from a clear sky
A mermaid out of the blue sea,
She touched his metal face,
For she had seen none of like him.
But that touch created a little spark,
In the metal heart out of chances that slim.
As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave,
For the metal mind felt the aura,
For the metal body moved to dance,
For Riverdale loved that girl,
For she was his fading chance.
But do the humans understand love?
I doubt they do, for the metal heart,
Was driven out from the lands.
For his story never had a start.
The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain,
For his metal heart rusted in vain.
Over his kingdom of broken dreams,
Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign.
As his metal body rusted away,
In the aura of an insane world,
Where love is a jewellery reserved,
For this misery has now unfurled,
He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.
