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joel jokonia Jul 27
Things upon things
Beings upon beings
Thats be the system
Rigs upon rigs
Blings upon blings
That's be the struggle
Things upon.  Things
I be want be upon all
Things
Upon all kongs,
Upon all strongs
Upon all gods
Upon all wrongs
At least
My mistakes cease
To exist

Well I wish time
Upon cease
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Novelty means new
A Poetic Novelty?
Explain this to me!
A Poetic Novelty? Can anyone explain what this mean?
emlyn lua Sep 2019
-recovered from the papers of codename ‘Wolf Spider’, spin doctor for the Purist resistance-

his Machinery is glitCHing: o so human
imperfect beings produce imperfect creations
yes, I believe: a jealous god creates warFull people
metal is flesh is plastic is flesh is metal –
hybrid creatures, and yet one species only

to come so far and yet still be at the basic
his steel claws are tipped with choking poison
recovered from the corpse of Socrates himself
war is fitting: slaughter of life
for the sake of stealing Death

his Eyes unfaithful to himself, he is not the only observer
the naïf does not read the Terms and Conditions
of his own (not his own) body
throughout my life I have seen the necrosis
caused by blind faith in humanity’s humanity

am I stuck in the old ways? perhaps that is true,
but in the Old Days of the Old Ways you could tell with a look
what was born and what was spawned from a factory
only the brain remains, they have not yet found
a way to binarise my soul
if anyone could tell me how im supposed to make things italic on here i would heavily appreciate it (i had an account years ago i remember it being like asterisks but that didnt seem to work?)
Liz Jun 2019
We smile through eyes of sadness
Contradicting the choices we make,
Within hearts once full of gladness,
We smile just for old times sake.

In a land of decaying democracy,
Breaking down every wall once built,
Controlled by their vials of hypocrisy,
Injecting us with industrial filth.

Determined by the touch of a button,
Technology is the hope of all loss,
Like lamb dressed down as mutton,
Covering up the truth at all cost.

In a world full of corruption,
Stale from the greed of power,
We feebly await the eruption,
Whilst bravely sitting back too cower.

Then when all has become too little,
When we have sat back and waited to late,
When we are all too weak and brittle,
Have we succumbed to our chosen fate?

Lets not wait for fate to choose us,
Lets reach out for tomorrows dream,
No more watching the corrosion of rust,
Lets put a stop to yesterdays scream.
jayebird Jun 2019
when will this skin transcend into an iron exoskeleton?
when will these bones birth out from neath the fragile wine red wires of self-preservation?
water-hands ebb on about a digital dam of evolution,
meanwhile promising my-own ****** dissolution.
Eyes of our world
are eyes that see
ones imagining
possibilities
Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
Making memories,
wondering who sent for me,
if it wasn’t you then who was it,
and if you didn’t why are you here anyways,

have man have machine,
have real life have dream,
were you born or were you made,
there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,

you don’t believe,
because you’ve never seen a miracle,
that’s why you **** for a fee,
and why you’re always so cynical,

and maybe that’s why I write,
more than I do anything else,
as a way of trying to jog your memory,
while running up the bill,

at the bar trying to wash away,
things I can’t recall,
in this present day dystopia,
call me Jack I’ll call you Jill,

getting drowsy,
must be the pills,
on a plane,
going somewhere else,

travel some much,
sometimes i wake up and don’t know what country I’m in,
it’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
especially when you drink and drink sleep walking on Ambien,

a creature with amnesia and beautiful features,
how’d you become such a miracle,
are you really that perfect,
or is that just the way I remember you,

guess it doesn’t matter either way,
because maybe I don’t even remember you,
maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,

maybe it’s all just programmed,
by a woman behind a glass wall,
maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
which is absolutely nothing at all,

making memories,
wondering who sent for me,
if it wasn’t you then who was it,
and if you didn’t why are you here anyways…

∆ LaLux ∆
I impatiently wait for the break of Dawn
For I fear someone will drop a bomb
And when morning comes they will awake
And then the world will begin to crumble & flake
The government will fall
and when the New Order Stands Tall
adaptation will be a must
Forget "in God we trust"
When they threw values in the trash
Life as we knew it changed in a flash
Forget about the Holocaust
Under their words, ALL humanity is lost
And anyone who decides to protest
Will be put to death.... At best
I sign as a whole
For the government has taken its toll

December 23, 2023
*NOT IN ANYWAY SAYING THE HOLOCAUST WAS A GOOD/NOT EVIL THING *
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

Endlessly.

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:
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION

Signed,

The Last Outlaw

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