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V Aug 2018
a world so crumpled in the folds
of black and white exhibit
no color, no individuality
or hopefulness.

  a world of conditions,
agreements, and contracts
dwindled the creative senses
of the budding youth and
the creativity of the
newly implied, fruitful minds,
but the youth never entirely failed.

   when pushed down into the
heaps of ranks amd despair, a
dew hopefuls remained.

  youth used the broken bits of
crayons, of whole pieces and
shavings to apply to the crumpled
corners of the world,
starting off with a few swipes of color
among the horizon
and the skyscrapers of the world.

  the once black and white world
began to blossom in shades of
violets and yellows, bleeding
down the white pages, smearing
among that of shades of
blues and greens,
creating a world that was once
referred by legends or stories
as being a
a world full of color,
a world so fruitful in love
and perseverance, and
it ended up being strong
enough again to become reborn
once more from the hands of the
In the digital l-and
We l-ive in
Mistakenly automatic
One pointing at a chest of tools
Eyes on i
No soul can tell a part a weakling metal

Robots robbing robbers rich
T-error terrifying t-errorists
Artist gods and goddesses
Sharing platform to unleashed gifts

Mint hue bubbles squeak
Fizzy dizzy violet haze
World head to toes spins
Any day it spins coins in change

A quiet girl is sinister
Siren of mystery or future
Robot is your mirror
Peach chin with teeth filter
No innocence and glitter litter
Guilty until proven the latter

A quiet girl a terrorist
Error mouths terror twist
Terrorist from the orient
They hide in between every end
Disguises they cover in
Racist as problem solving

Smile girl watch
A fake smile and eyes
Skin of steel so is her
Heart made alloy
How it blazes to the touch when heated
Oh it bites fingertips as it's cold
Hair resting on the curve of her spine
A woman's hair only breaks if it tries to grow

What she said
Tell me if you can tell us a part
Warning tears borne from her crooked eyes
Robot and soul
Terrorists from t-errorists
No soul knows either
Tattoos or memory shall identify you
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Izzy Daltry Feb 2018
How many angels fit on the point of a needle?
Heaven and Evil are obsolete;
You type them in and press delete.
The ghost in the machine stares at the screen from the other side.
Who are we to say that Deeper Blue was Undivine?

Can an angel exist in both one place and another at the same time?
Doesn't everything now though, online?
Angels are waves and angels in wires,
They no longer sing in heavenly choirs.
I long to be the crow that cries
And sits upon the telegraph lines
With angels running through his bones and through his sighs.

Can you see angels?
Sometimes we feel them when we touch.
You long to transcend your existence for theirs but when you return,
If you return,
Will this be enough?
How does your lover's embrace compare to an electric shock?

Are angels even real?
To that I ask you this:
Is there anything left that truly exists?
In one electric consciousness the divines observe
Our post-physical, post-political, post-peripheral metareality
Tainted by fallacy
And, oblivious to the angels surrounding me
I stare at the screen
And the ghost in the machine stares back from the other side.
The questions scientists used to ask about angels, we now ask about electrons. Perhaps metaphysics should not be considered a dead science.
Surya Kurniawan Jan 2018
Two thousand years later
Earth left the sun, further
The moon abandoned, withered
Mars mesmerized, dazzled
The stars I stare, expired
As books burned, darker
Ash morphed 451, warmer

A groomed pairs
Went extinct, doomed
So, the humans could fully bloom
Into dust and tried to fathom
Their corpse was devoured
by Y'sraaj and C'thun
The soul still trapped in the middle
Of autonomous mushroom
So Eiros won't grieve alone
Charmion won't left to mourn
Towards the void ahead
Then slowly
Then the 9 billion names of God start to an end. Made it as a tribute to all dystopian movies and books.
Black Jewelz Dec 2017
It is the 23rd century,
The other rebels are showcased in the penitentiary
In the city’s center street
To gratify the remnants of the sensory.

They’re beheld through double-paned hybrid walls of palladium, aluminum oxide and diamond;
In each cell their own reflection’s seen


There is no blue sky, no scent of trees;
The cells’ sounds rebound and resound

To promote censoring.

It all began in the 21st century;
Now, ancient relics are kept in a technological cemetery,
Guarded by a sophisticated sentry.

Unbound knowledge damaged our brains,
Progress became our shackle and chains.
We—humanity—became dependent like a candle and flame
And gradually, drastically, society managed to change.
All who resisted were banished in shame,
Then our history was lost; I’m lucky to even know my family name.

I am the last rebel.
I know of tambourines, timbre and treble.
I know of beauty that once made men tremble.
I know of the past gods;

Before we made the last devil.

Now we are the drones.
We mass-produced their bodies, now we are the clones.
Now they think, speak and feel for us—we are just bones.
We built our father’s house upon these rocks:

We are the stones.

If any should read this before the ripples of time dwindle,
I’ll be plain: we surrendered human expression to digital signals and symbols.
We once made music from thimbles and cymbals,
Praised the Lord on the timbrels,
Shouted aloud atop the shingles.
It was all so profound, because it was so simple.
Eventually what the experts, geniuses and pros found
Was a way to hose down

A waterfall.

Now, propriety is: No psaltry, poetry or piety.
The cemetery holds the devices which ushered the end of society.
But I have seen them;
I devised a scheme to sneak in silently
And study the history privately.

I was stunned. Stricken, as with fear,
And for the first time in years
My eyes leaked with tears.

If I could talk to them,
If I could ask a question,
If I could somehow call,
I’d ask why—just why did you allow it all?!
How could you not foresee the downfall?!
Why did not some societal siren sound off?

Speaking of sirens...
Oh, no...
They’ve found my lair...
See, this is why I’ve found fault!

Now I am a rebel—a renegade—forced to live like a groundhog

Simply because I seek to enlighten and warn all,
Like one who foresaw
The siege of Warsaw.

If this is ever found, preserve my last words:


The Last Outlaw

Reed Jobs X
"The tenacity of man,
Is often diluted by his apathy"

Remove the casket from the shed,
What better day for newly-weds,
Than kissing ashes, free of life,
Or tempting coin for future strife?

Softly shouting flagrant bribes,
To twist the arms of simple brides,
While dancing in a shadowed veil,
Her pennies trudge through muddied trails,
And miles deep, the ocean rails,
Against this failing tide

A hurried lilt,
Controls his voice,
As urchins weep for swift rejoice,
A calming dread removes their choice,
To plead for cases lost to ages,
Toppled by a mound of pages,
Marked by years of silent threats,
Rending truth for standard wages

Struggling to find the innocence in death,
He defies to cut his veins with ****,
While choking on a corporate scheme,
And gambling our hopes and dreams,
Like bars of gold turned smithereens,
Defending lies to break the ties,
Which sow him to this mortal seam,
For good...
The prices of many yield the benefits of few.
Em MacKenzie Jun 2017
They say to keep your eyes open, but your mind closed,
leave your thoughts unspoken
and your body exposed.
We hold such value to anyone who holds a heart,
and when all is said and done we rip ourselves apart.

I've never been one to wake up in the morning,
I love living my life to look at the stars.
You experience complete peace without any kind of warning,
and if you look hard enough you can sometimes see Mars.

If you go back to the year 1944,
sixteen year olds were coming back from war,
and now in today in 2017,
an adolescent is a child and an adult a teen.

We're so far from our natural state,
our entire species is cursed with cancer.
When we were hunter-gatherers we were doing great,
But we thought preserved food was the better answer.

Most live their lives now in a camera,
forever looking for one more person's approval.
Trying to reach a standard of Marilyn or Pamela,
but a step forward would be technological removal.

Let's look back to around 1970,
when people were still struggling with equality,
And most likely by the year 2020,
we'll be oppressed and depressed by the plenty.
Ormond Apr 2017
I have seen couples,
So far from each—
Other, on a platform,
Waiting for the next train,
Never touching, yet how
They ****** their mobile
Devices, how softly, sweet,
Without guile nor agenda
They swipe the glass—
As it swoons back in return
With blue lights and alerts,
So dearly needed and answers,
In way words for the machines
Of flesh and the ghost within,
With such personal aplomb
In real notifications of text
And instant message.
In a dystopian future where mosquitos have been all but eradicated, manual injections of anti-coagulants are a luxury in which the rich partake. Demand is high and access is highly restricted. On the surface, this is justified through religious ideologies, but at its core it is driven by class discrimination; it is a way for the wealthy to give yet another hearty ****-you to the poor.

As often happens in the case of substances which are both in demand and restricted, a thriving illegal drug trade has emerged. Low-quality anti-coagulants trickle down to the poor, but are, of course, subject to higher sentencing, for the safety of those taking them.

People share needles. Facilities for safe-injections exist, but mostly people prefer to attend ‘injection ******' where they literally scratch each other’s backs.
T R Wingfield Jan 2017
This is a call to Arms
The time for action is now.
Our government is preparing for War
They're building walls and cutting ties
to conquer us they must divide
us from ourselves and from our world

This is a call to Arms
The time for Action is now
The board is set, and we, the Pawns, are all in our place, facing an enemy we are told to defeat,
though they appear to be identical to you and me.

This is a Call to Arms
The time for action is now
We must revolt
Lest we be sacrificed to Kings
To Queens, to Bishops
To the knights of the realm and the castles they call home.

This is a call to Arms
The time for action is now
We must band together to be heard
We will not be cannon fodder
On frontliles of a culture War

This is a Call to Arms
The time for action is now.
Defeated looms ever closer
The Reckoning draws nigh
Will you stand and deliver
Or will you bow down and submit?
Will you face the coming adversity,
or brave the consequences
should you turn your back to it?

This is a call to arms
They've taken land and sea and air,
Poisoned them to **** us,
and then billed us for the repair.
The enemy surrounds us,
Threatening life and limb and freedom.
Demanding fealty and obedience.
Demanding tribute for the war chest,
And soldiers for the ranks,
Demanding that we pay the cost while they set price.
They want us broken, not just beaten
Only unconditional surrender will suffice

This is a call to Arms
The time for action is now
To chant the castles down
To fortify the streets
Against the tyranny and the hate,
Against powers of subjugation,
Against the evils of the world

The doomsday clock ticks ever closer to midnight. We must act now; so to avert catastrophe.
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