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              fulfil a outdated programme.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.

If being in love makes the world make sense,

could sanity and love be the same thing?

It starts with a breath:
I smell what I see,
I inhale what I can't see.
Then the world of my body spins:
I feel the taste,
Taste what I feel,
Hear what I see,
See what I hear,
Smell what I see (yet not 4-D),
See what I smell;
Taste what I smell,
Smell what I taste (they go together);
Hear what I taste,
Taste what I hear.
Feel what I hear (nails on a chalkboard),
Hear what I feel;
Taste what I hear,
Hear what I taste;
Taste what I see,
See what I taste;
Feel what I smell,
Smell what I feel;
Hear what I smell,
Smell what I hear;
Amid these confusing permutations,
I am who I am,
At least that makes (a) sense.