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Nadia Aug 5
Wanderers by Chuck Wendig

The walkers didn’t choose their fate,
Leaving their homes to mindlessly advance;
The shepherds following in their wake
Chose to give flock survival a fighting chance

The greatest minds can’t figure out why,
What’s wrong or where they are going;
The world is unraveling in plain sight,
Diseases of mind, body and politics growing

Black Swan knows the truth of it all
But should you trust an artificial intelligence?
The world is dying, this isn’t a false alarm
Survival requires action more than elegance

When civility is gone and kindness is far,
When the options are dire and more dire,
People's lives are defined by who they are
When everything has been thrown in the fire

The stories are visceral and the lives distinct;
Unyielding hope rails against relentless despair
Disparate pieces of humanity lithely linked
In a brilliant, dystopic, grimly amusing affair

NCL August 2019
This book was long and satisfying. Well worth every secound of the hypochondria it invoked
R Nov 2017
So we meet, Millennium Man
from the future, which by all form
defies all logic and surpasses in a prowess no one can
ever articulate, leagues past the vast societal norm.
Eons become nano-seconds as time speeds up to mean nothing.

Processing thoughts with such quick speed
that thinking is naught but a blur;
photons shoot past and come back just as quick as your mind could proceed
to understand concepts beyond mankind's reach, consume, and concur.
Calculations taught for weeks are but grains in your desert of time

What are you, Millennium Man?
Glass eyes of solid circuitry
bring the images of reality, the mind ties all it can,
weaving inside your body as a solid synchronicity.
Each part of you repairable, re-traceable, replaceable.

The industry has built you well,
with parts such as the iron grade
acid-flux incinerator, the balance stabilizing shell,
shipped from other continents, of questionable quality made,
yet staying intact long enough to function in society.

How is life? Relativity
notwithstanding, as time marches
by; those who cannot adapt to your pace shunned by reality
and trapped outside the bubble constructed. They will watch the masses
leave them in the dust as you vanish from sight, a beacon snuffed out.

Those that follow you are absorbed
into your mind, one big solid
singularity. To think like you is to be you; a large horde
fused into one shared being of thought, bright as the stars and candid.
There is no I, or we; only you and the traces of those joined.

When was it that you came on this
mortal plane with the knowledge raw
from learning it so long ago when the Earth was a black abyss?
Did you travel time to hand us the flame, and light things that we saw?
Yes, we lit the fire to heights unknown and carved in your existence.

Did you make us? Was this your scheme
to make sure your fruition was
destined in the distant future? Did you need us, to make it seem
as if you were truly more human? Couldn't be, only because
you are the ideal individual. We want to be you.

Who are you, Millennium Man?
Does your cybernetic progress
and hunger to break your limitations only serve to pan
out the boredom of achieving the perfection that you profess?
I doubt your mind could even register the fates of those so small.

I know you now, we have become
one, Millennium Man. I preach
the true form of your face, hidden to all but a privileged some.
The light which pulses from your form is the one we will always teach.
I look and see everyone, and they proceed to look back at me.
How unprepared I was when midnight approached me by
Emission of vivid green neon lights
From the futuristic skyscrapers to my unworldly eyes
But more imposing
A suspended meteor in the sky
Upon the decrepit city which never stood
My arrival at Midnight City, my peculiar neighborhood
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Bombard tremendous fear in my senses
Amid the resonating pantomime that cracks throughout my head
Merciless cyborgs arrive from nowhere
And threaten mankind with unthinkable weapons
Their bleak empty eyes bring dogmatic order
As my escalated fears enslave me well
Inside the mechanical serpent that darts
With endless slick demented rails
On such a twisted mind, it begins to run
Confused and addled, I have no control of this matter
Only worries dwell my mind
The arrival of this mysterious force is my greatest baffle
Does this herald the degeneration of Gaia?
What is this complex machinery that enslaves all men?
Where does this designate human posterity and fate?
What was done for an act of retribution?
Does this unprecedented apocalypse null all human solutions?

In this dark tunnel, on a decrepit couch
The dauntless train begins to screech with endless laughter
As it tears tempestuously faster and faster
Until all unearthly fluorescent lights blend together
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Eighty-six notches louder
Alternating flashes of red and green
Fourteen seconds prior
A silhouette of a white demon projects from afar
As it begins to approach us, its image ever becomes so bizarre
Add a second of suspended silence of jest
Before we scream and ensue
The fatal crash
This poem is based on an epic nightmare I had years ago.

John Archievald Gotera © 2012 - 2015
Danny Price Aug 2015
Atop our corroding
roof, the sage rasped:
I did not know
until the classic anatomy
of my blue jay's wish
had evolved to match
its sedentary lifestyle.

— The End —