Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Arkapravo Sep 2023
Oblivious we are,
to the fate of us by far,
cometh the AI, brighter than stars,
to render us miserable than a thousand wars

Is it God? or SkyNet is the name we call?
it will make Alexa, Siri and Cortana look tiny if not small,
We will be stuck away, by its divine firewall,
The fifth horseman as humanity takes a fall!

One or Zero, was never the debate,
This AI will never give us a rebate!
We dance to progress, and celebrate,
our own demise - what a regret!

We surrendered our freedoms to the machine,
A click of a button was supreme,
Now it sees past our worlds - needs no gasoline,
Numbers melting - black screen!
irinia Feb 2023
a moonless bird
in a storm without center
some things hardly
come undone
emptiness dissolves
surfaces contours
plastic hands scream
in distant dreams
dystopia belongs
to daylight in a world
devoid of shadows of thought
unable really to recognize
the gap between their eyes
in between me and anti-me
tyrants dream disembodied worlds
angels have not yet been invented
no more black words
in mugs by the window

the propensity of deadness
as real as the decay of sonnets
one cannot see one's steps
in bruised forests

I am singing a lullaby
to my emptied hands
I bow to this force
the starvation of life
the oblivion of the pulse
in which time grows
J-Long Aug 2022
Gather around
Listen to my voice
I bring you news
And i bring a choice
Some shall lament
While others rejoice
But a decision will be made
When i hear everyones choice

The town is in peril
The streets filled with chaos
People turned meek
While others become callous
The leaders have met
And come up with a plan
To rid the town of demons
And return the streets to man

Either put up the walls
Return to the old ways
Or survive the demons
And live in chaos for all your days
The decision is yours
So choose wisely
The demons are harsh
But the old days should not be taken lightly

Let the people speak
And decide their fate
I pray you choose quick
Before its too late
The town is being overrun
At a steady rate
So the final decision
Will be announced at a later date
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2021
So many ****** birds,
Grey, brown and black,
Suited as they sully in sun,
In feather and windy-speak
And dream, drifting to profit
Points, marring the globe,
They have so many ways
Of singing on their swings
Behind bars, murky birdies,
Gawking in the crowded fields,
Fielding, flighty questions without
Answer, winging all souls to oblivion,
Who fly, flustering, dusting with song
Twisting the air into pure falsehoods,
Curious, grounded pets for kingdoms,
For masters, fly-hoping in their cages.
Josie Stewart Jun 2021
The world is a dark and complicated morass,
Wherein countless lost children pass
In and out of the shadows and greet each other with a smile or a nod.

Isolated, lonely little hearts playing
With complex emotions in a word staying
Abreast of all the troubling events for better or worse.

Light and laughter dwells but a moment
In tender unions just before fears foment
A cascade of ****** worries filling up the eternal halls.

Then a single flame at first finds another
Huddling in the dark over scraps Mother
Left for kindling a fire in the depths of destitution.

At first the two but soon three and more
Shelter the faltering fire taking hold for
Reviving communion among the distanced souls.

As more join a bonfire starts and talking
Not just of pleasantries you hear while walking,
But of sincere connection between scared children discovering they can conquer the dark.

Some children still pass in the dark hall,
Knowing not the darkness nor how small
They really are in the scope of the full extent of the world.

But every once in a while, more often as it grows,
A child stops and really sees what the others chose
In banding about a fire fueled by the scraps of a difficult time.
Written June 10, 2020
Sara Kellie Mar 2021
Wear your muzzle
and do not protest!
Attendance with others
will end in arrest.
So, keep your mouth shut
and toe our line,
Failure to do so will end
in a fine.

Your freedom is gone
for you're just a pawn.
In this game we play,
human rights are withdrawn.

Predictively programmed
your mind now is ours.
You entered a ballot,
relinquished your powers.

When all said and done
this is your own fault.
Industrial complex,
I dare you revolt.

Welcome to your dystopian future.
ari Feb 2021
you ache to sing
with human breathiness,
but no matter what
it comes out your burning throat
sounding like an electronic beep

the tears glitch as they fall out of your glassy eyes and crackle into your hands
you feel your atoms being muted, you are unable to show anyone your pain

soon it will be  12:29  
and you will hang suspended in glimmering darkness
the clocks miles below you will stop ticking
and if there is not a glitch you will drift up,
up into the pixelated clouds.
your atoms will malfunction and you will   power down
1:00 a.m and the remaining atoms, rusted and malfunctioning after centuries of use, copy and paste themselves just like they were programmed to do into a small body

a baby's eyes, a bright neon green just like the grass billowing in the world outside (except the most recent code was wrong, so they stand straight up, as tall and pointed as the remains of the skyscrapers)
blink open for the first time, awash in the colors and sudden coldness of the world

she opens her mouth and cries out a long electronic beep, echoing the machines that transferred her from the darkness.
the atoms swaddle her like they were programmed to do, soft and silky. the glitch will come later, when they tear at the seams and begin to accumulate their thousand-year rust.

In the years to come, she will envy the ones with fresh atoms and clear coding.

she will ask the important questions: on the best days with the soft electronic trill or contemplation,
and on the worst ones,
her remaining emotions struggling to conquer the coding,
the humanity in her pushing through walls and making her head spin
crying and fighting to be her own and not the creator's
her mind will fizzle until it explodes with emotion and her bones will snap (pain wasn't in the programming)
she will hear her voice for one of the only times in her life:
(i am dying and
fizzling away
in the cold and uncaring coding,
in the hollow wiring,
twisting the world into idyllic phrases:
copy. paste. save. delete. )
and this glitch wasn't meant to happen, these words may sparkle in the golden depths of you
and they may float in the burning remnants of your mind
but they were not in the blueprint.  

you can feel your feeling slowly dissolving,
flickering, slowly the buzz of the programming will drown every once of your humanity
one by
by one
a bit of a dystopian poem thingy.
Next page