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A sight that
All hope.
There in front of you
Yet only being able to look at it
And accept fate.
The longing
For something within reach
Yet all desire
Locked away.
The knowledge that
This was a long time coming
Yet the sign that was
Suddenly there
Catches you by surprise.
The sign that says
“Out of order”
On the vending machine.
I've never written a comedic poem before, but there's a first for everything right?
L Barbera Jul 22
Men have had their bodies
and souls destroyed by machinery.
Hollow cogs and cold-blooded gears
grind through the better part of the day.
Relentless and unapologetic
Feeding on the dreams of a far away beach
A cabin upstate
or the delusion of retirement.
Dreams that slowly slip away
as your body deconstructs.
This is not a life to envy
Why do we endure

Is this what a dollar costs?
Lilywhite Jun 17
When did I become one with the machine?
My body’s lost its meaning.
When did my pieces become parts?
It’s such a grimy feeling.
Not a single original thought—
Just an animation,
turned on by the input of systematic oppression
My output; just regurgitation
Anxiety and crippling depression
Time constrained by the weight of the world
Do you feel the pressure?
And you already know this
Foraging for focus
Keep your thoughts in sync
Close your eyes and listen,
but don’t forget to breathe
Your mind’s eye is preoccupied with patterns on repeat
They call it groupthink
Whoop, whoop
Thought police
Loop, spiral, fractal
Segregated sentiment seeking your sentience
Coagulate and listen
Maybe its madness or
maybe it’s ******* progress
Reel it in, just breathe, don’t regress
Ya gotta feel the feeling
Let it be,
Because you’re what’s real
So feel your heart,
Now ease your mind
You have to remember to forget
it’s just the grind
and you gotta play along sometimes
Are you a cog in the wheel?
Maniac girl May 24
Hey master, hey boss,
My salute to your flaws,
And your f*cking stupid laws,
I gave my best and you told me to do better,
And that better never satisfied you, unsatisfied Hater,
I didn't sleep for 2 weeks but that doesn't even matter,
You don't appreciate my work,
Like a perfect ****,
Oh I am an imperfect perfectionist,
Truth hurts, lie heals.

Oh dear, dear sir, I’m right here,
To work for you night and day without shedding a drop of tear,
And all you have to do is give me money, my dear Sir.

Oh I’m a robot in the form of human you hired,
I'll die if I ever get fired,
So I do everything perfectly without getting tired,
But you don't appreciate me, I can see it's conspired,
It's self-abuse, I'm doing to myself,
It's torture to the robot what you are doing to me and you know I can't help.

I might die soon without really living,
But if I die today, I die happy,
Cause there is no reason to live, life is boring,
And it's not that I'm unhappy,
I'm just never satisfied,
I always think of all the time when I lied.

It feels empty so I try to fill the space
I don’t ever understand if it’s me who chase the trouble or trouble who chase me,
Oh, you think that you are manipulating me but I'm playing the fool all these days.
That's why I always agree to disagree
Poetic T Apr 29
I was just bolts with a jar of mortality
       sitting on top of a conscience frame.
Were they just following programs to
              fulfil a outdated programme.

Like watching black & white programs
              on an old 4K television screen.
Incompatible to even comprehend that  
            the actions & consequences
                                  were known when the switch
    was no longer, like a god everything was preordained.

But for one to know everything, one must know
           the intricate nuance's of action and consequence.
They had no emotion, no feeling. Not knowing that
              what was forgivable, to give one a second chance.

Instead they just hollow pointed there intention across.
A full stop in the heart,
                               and a silence of thought in the head.
For when the genie was released every action was a
                           ripple of what could become.

And they thought to stop crime was to see the actions,
               of one and all.  So a child,
                                                   was read on mannerisms
Psyche profiles where constructed and without a moment
                                                          ­­         cries where silenced.

The protector of all who now judged,
             Tears of infants fell silent.
I was the machine with a heart,
             beating to the reality that all where guilty till
                                                                ­­          charged.

We were few, but we judged the machines before us,
              unworthy were those that took a life.
For an algorithm that was corrupt of humanity.
                         Serving with the strength of conviction,
but we would see deep within and see the seed that
              could grow not clip it blossom before it could grow.

Machines were once the morals of mans sentences,
            now there are those who see morality.
          But have the steel to back up on the convictions.

Morals are mans strength not a weakness,
            I'm just bolts with a jar of mortality.
              but before all were guilty...
Slabs now hold the misjudgement of so many.
             we see beyond 000,s & 11111's
were not numbers were more than that now.
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
I am here
I exist
But at what cost?

I have a home
I have a family
But why do they care for me?

I have a school
I have work to do
Why am I so lethargic?

I have friends
I have dated
What do they see in me?

I am here
I exist
But what is my purpose?
Who am I truly under the mask of flesh?
Poetress2 Apr 6
She sits in the Doctor's office,
with one thing on her mind;
To rid herself of this Fetus,
so she can go on with her life.
Her dreams would all be ruined,
if this child were to be born;
She just can't let that happen,
thus she decides to Abort.
They call her back to a room,
she follows the Nurse's lead;
Gently she lays on the bed,
then sees the ******* machine.
Her mind is filled with doubt,
"Am I making a huge mistake;
The baby isn't even alive,
get a grip, for pity sakes."
Then the Doctor enters the room,
he is really quite polite;
Inside of her, he inserts a tube,
and she squeezes her eyes tight.
But deep within the occupied Womb,
the Fetus flinches away;
As the hose begins to tear apart,
how and what it may.
Then it grabs onto her tiny hand,
no longer a thumb to ****;
The baby's eyes are filled with tears,
for the pain is just too much.
Little by little, it tears her apart,
no one can hear her screams;
But parts of her pass through the tube,
thanks to that horrid machine.
Her tiny head is the last to go,
donned in curly, black hair;
She's simply but a memory,
Mama's product of an affair.
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