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Liz Jun 8
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 4
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
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
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
Ambika Jois Nov 2016
As the sun sets across the horizon
I see how flat the earth is believed to be
From left to right my eyes scroll
Over the valley, rainbow, into a strange eternity

The golden chariots riding on the skyline
Booming chants of the future from another era
I attach myself to the story once heard before
Envisaging my former being as perhaps an ephemera

I relive the day, the noon till the night
As twilight beckons the nightingale's dawn
Saluting the sun from the heart of the lotus pond
For before, now and after are all from our own antiphon
STLR Oct 2016
The Future to me is Walking Toasters and Cars that glide and go faster than roller coaster

No more big screens nothing but virtual TVs & invisible gun holsters Art Displays still magnificence in portable posters.

Images and pictures are no longer created by hand
they are simply imagined then transferred to an electrical canvas through the movement of sand.

Homes are bought with credits in the digital lands all types of music played together with the mystical hands Medley's majestically moving the fans  

No more war or hate just peace by command it’s amazing to see the future in conceptual hands, emotional bangs and physical hangs dominated by the extraterrestrial man.

The future is no place for a regular man a scholar must know mathematics and formulas to simply understand love as a feeling and how it stands.

Vagabond walkers on the side of the technological wastelands
everything that's trash is thrown in biological waste cans then mutated among each other to create bands.
Addy Stone Apr 2016
Tuesday was when the sun failed
my shin bones were ripped from my legs and made it heavy to walk,
feathers fell through the air and suffocated each one of us,
7 billion curious eyes looked up to the viridescent sky,
then came a flash of emptiness,
the sky went out and so did our minds.
The world was left unable,
we could only feel
only taste
only hear
only smell.
Then they came,
and took everything from us
they took you away from me.
I felt a chilled hand gently touch my neck
and reach to my ear
a distant screech echoed throughout the deserted air  
then a numbing pain that reminded me of death spread over my skin
my eyelids began to close
and as they did I saw more light than when they were open
I saw more things than I could envisage.
A never ending white universe filled with unfamiliar faces flew around me
and once my eyes focused I searched for you,
every single person
hung in the empty air
with thin tubes filled with sapphire gel coming from their ears.
All of their faces were stripped of life and their eyes sunk into their heads,
but the one face I could not find was yours.
I remember day after day hoping I would wake up,
and eventually I did; but if only I hadn’t
I would not be trapped in the silence of not hearing your laugh,
not seeing you grow older
and I would not be stuck in the mind of a hopeless mad man
waiting for “them” to bring your bright green eyes
your soft smile
your small hands
back to me.
So I can only hope that you know
I search through midnight
single day
for you
and I will find you
in this blackened world;
my son.
Alien invasion poem
Addy Stone Apr 2016
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
“When will dad be home to sing me a lullaby again?”
Those words
are stapled to the back of my head every waking day by our daughter
whose pouty lips tremble as she kisses your picture
then slowly looks up at me,
What else am I to say
when I ask myself the same **** question
every day, every night
and every year.
Then the sirens sing,
and we hide under a small table
as a group of men search for explosives,
gunshots echo through the shack and numb my ears
a small girl from across the room coughs up tomato soup
and is instantly tossed out onto the cold streets
of the October blue

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It is now the end of December
and instead of snow wrapped around our little town like a blanket
there is chilled blue flames
that leave children screaming
screaming at the fire for taking their family.

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It has been months since you wrote back
and years since I have seen you.
Now it’s March and sky is flooded with silver waste
and as I looked up from my balcony
the door began to ring,
I ran to the door
and saw your bright blue face,
with your soft pale eyes
but your soul wasn’t you
your mind had been replaced by the war.
And as I opened my ears to speak
I saw the knife in your hands and as you whispered
“I love you”
the light that was you
went through the sharp jagged edges
and sank into my heart,
sunshine took over my lungs
and darkness sunk behind my eyes
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
where are you?
Futuristic based poem about wwIII
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