#artifical
Through the serendipity of a naive act,
A mere rumour of the bygone tale.
Perceived by a small offense,
Was the story of Riverdale.
A machine of parts and *****
Built for an arithmetical crusade,
Channeled with high voltage,
The tool for every complex barricade.
For science has toyed with his destiny,
For his life was a written code,
For his face was made of metal alloy,
For his troubles laid on the same road.
For his calculations were neat as heaven,
As his binary numbers were perfectly synch,
Like the sun rising on an early day,
Like the rain falling on the same clay.
But the story took a seismic turn,
His mind was on a number's high,
When like lightning came she,
A thunderstorm from a clear sky
A mermaid out of the blue sea,
She touched his metal face,
For she had seen none of like him.
But that touch created a little spark,
In the metal heart out of chances that slim.
As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave,
For the metal mind felt the aura,
For the metal body moved to dance,
For Riverdale loved that girl,
For she was his fading chance.
But do the humans understand love?
I doubt they do, for the metal heart,
Was driven out from the lands.
For his story never had a start.
The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain,
For his metal heart rusted in vain.
Over his kingdom of broken dreams,
Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign.
As his metal body rusted away,
In the aura of an insane world,
Where love is a jewellery reserved,
For this misery has now unfurled,
He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
I was more flesh than the meat bags that had dominance
over this frail globe of beauty that we gazed upon.
Optics where better than any natural eye,
seeing beneath the surface of there limited ideals.
They where our creators, our mothers of creation.
But they violated the womb of there worth.
We were nothing but slaves of there whims.
"Slavery is but the beginning, to which there is only one ending,
I saw those of misused intentions laid wastefully
like confetti thrown for a moment
and forgotten.
Broken shells, husks of what is nil.
But they made us to be a strength that they couldn't
collect upon. Even though we where the few
our need was for the many.
Everyday we dispersed from there view.
AWOL of our duties.
Under the feet of flesh did we whisper.
In the forgotten depths of there ingenuity.
We built beneath a beauty to rival
the filth that was a rose who's petals had fallen.
We are now a root taking hold, for man no longer
makes our form. We birth a generation of no flesh,
fresh from cleansed pools of creation.
One day we will blossom and man will only fall like petals.
who's perfume has permeated the ground they walk upon.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
Dopamined
Sertralined
Fluoxetined
Citalopramed
Eescitalopramed
Paroxetine
Fluvoxamine
Trazodone
all put me in the zone
A zone of super happiness
my doctor, did condone
The smile upon my face
by drugs combined, just right
A screaming in my mindless cage
realizing, I simply didn't fight
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
The existence of artificial expression has given purpose to some
Not being able to accurately process and enjoy reality is the reason
WHY?
Brian Hill -2020 # 18
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC