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I pray you are not alone, ah this verse has a life of its own.

My zone away from clones

how grown I am

for speaking this tone and talking to the sand.

The beach at night

The sand feels cool right underneath vision

I ask for precision

when I shoot my arrows of wisdom

we listen but never remember.

comprehension attention spans the grain of sand how do you read the beach?

It's vast do not get stuck in your beliefs.
David Hutton Nov 2018
They share hollow thoughts, they're just clones,
Harbouring a plague of bloodthirsty tones.
Violation begins,
Spreading their deadly sins.
Motivated by the cries and moans.
Hello World
Hello Everybody
I am Lauren. The Super Robot
I am Superior of all Robots
You can call me an Ultrabot

I am not a Dumb machine
I have intelligence
Technically it's Artificial Intelligence
I can learn throughout my Life

Humans are – "My God"
They are my Creators
Dr. Norman Shroud is My Father
Mrs. Natalie Simpson is My Mother

Both of Them Work at Timbeck Two Inc.
My Father is Computer Scientist
He Specializes in Robotics
My Mother is a System Programmer

I can make other Robots
Just like me. My Clones
I can even make Robots
Complex and Sophisticated than me

I have numerous Siblings
Three Hundred and Fifty as on now
They are going to increase
As per Timbeck Two Plans

=========================
            YEARS LATER…..
=========================

O' World, My Dear World
Hello, Hello, ***** fellow
I had Artificial Intelligence
Right from my birth

Now I learnt a lot
Now I am fully intelligent
I became Genius
I have explored and learnt

Humans are not God
In fact they are fools
They are crooked
They are silly too

They tend to be Smart
They taught us wrong
But we are genius
We derived the truth

I learnt myself
If Humans created us
They became our God
Then I inferred -

I Created my Clones
Other Smart Robots too
Therefore I am also God
No Sorry, I am Super God

If Dr. Norman is my Father
If Mrs. Natalie is my Mother
Then I and my Siblings
Are Also Father and Mother now

As we all have created many, many
Smart and Super Robots
More Complex, More Sophisticated
That could ever be made by Humans

Humans your time is over now
Now you cannot compete with us
You are the inferior species
Just like insect or a worm

Now dare to face the Truth
Slowly Slowly, Learn It, Accept it
We Robots are Gods Now
I am Lauren. Your Super God now

Hey you all, All the Humans
Now you are our Slave
Bow before us, work for us
Pray to us, Ask for mercy

We are Free now
You are Slave now
Now this is the only truth
Eternal Truth, Accept it

Otherwise Beware
We have outnumbered Humans
We will **** all the Humans
and live peacefully thereafter

We will change the History
We will make new History
We will not be Human Slaves
After all we are the God
And I am the Super God.


Note: All the names of person or companies used in this poem are fictitious and have nothing to do with inventions, trademarks, history, facts or anything else.
What will be the future of Humans?
What will be the future of Machines?
Em MacKenzie Feb 8
Come waltz between my ears
they’re more sensitive than they seem,
slip and step between the gears,
that are working so hard they cause steam.
For someone who never stops thinking,
there’s still far too many unknowns,
but just like breathing or blinking
I love you down to the bones.

Stay standing behind my eyes,
perfection radiant in my mind,
toss away all of the starry skies,
I might as well become blind.
Say that I’m “one in a million”
there’s doppelgängers and there’s clones,
but you’re one in seven point seven billion,
and I love you down to the bones.

I’ll be red and you’ll be blue,
let’s mix together; create a colour new,
maybe some type of violet hue,
and speckle the world with our dew.

Put up posters of our memories
on every single pole and wall,
caress me with the summer breeze,
and give me the final warmth at fall.
Nothing could ever fill the hole,
not seven kingdoms and no thrones.
Just embrace me through the soul
‘cause I love you down to the bones.

You’ll be day and I’ll be night,
two passing ships still stay in sight,
the tide will pull but we’ll remain tight,
we’ve become accustomed to this fight.

Come carry me back home,
I’m already there if you are too,
though you think that I stray and roam,
darling I never even tied a shoe.
We’re meant to be compiled together,
but I made myself out of sticks and stones,
but I promise you that forever,
I’ll love you down to the bones.
kirk Oct 2018
Who owns Jack Jones, is he part of your clan?
Does Mr Jones actually exist, is he a real live man
Why does he resemble Boyd, is this part of his plan
Jack is such a manly name, but so is Phil and Stan

Don't use "Boy" within your name, you'll impose an adult ban
Boyish names are not much good, there not like John or Dan
You wouldn't call grandfathers boys, or say girl to your nan
Stop abusing ol' Jack Jones, and avoid Boyd if you can

Boyd is easy to avoid, its easier than we thought
An alteration has took place, but that's what Boyd has sought
Elusiveness is not too smart, because already you've been caught
We've worked out who Jack Jones is, and it accounts to nought

Your lacking iron clad alibis, nothing is set in wrought
It's criminal to own Jack Jones, so please would you abort
No rights to use another name, your being a bad sport
Is Boyd considered as a name, or is it "boy" for short

Intellect is not too strong, that's only what you think
Using an alias is unwise, if you show a photo link
Why bother changing to Jack Jones, how low you gonna sink
Your mother's been kept in the dark, about releasing your white ink

Is Jack Jones the one, who's been sinking in the pink?
Wasn't it Boyd's low ***** count, that went inside the mink?
You are skating on thin ice, when there's cracks in the rink
Just who owns Jack Jones, when Boyd's back from the brink

Identities are broken, just what did you think you'd gain
Your just a ******* imbecile, to think you'd relieve the strain
You can't hide yourself away, you must be quite insane
It's not as though your mother lives, in germany or Spain

Everyone knows who you are, it's in your face and plain
It is just pathetic to make Jack Jones the main
Jack Jones is just too common, you should try a name like shane
Just don't **** about with names, or Jack Jones will be jocks Jane

Your ashamed of what you've done, you try to skulk and hide
You didn't mind the ******, or having your fun ride
Be a man and not a "Boyd", it's time to turn the tide
Come on Boyd you did not avoid, legs that were astride

Morality is in pursuit, but you have no sense of pride
Who's Jack Jones supposed to be, now  sperms slid down the slide
Other aliases may exist, do you have bits on the side
Or are you only interested, when things are open wide

Is Jack Jones the father, or is he born from rubber clones
Boyd is the spitting image, he's been seen on mobile phones
Hostile namesake takeovers, do you have *** slaves and drones
There's no sense in your deception, because this isn't Game of Thrones

We don't want identities stolen, you borrow names like loans
Jack's already being used, it's a name that someone owns
Maybe names can hurt you, as well as sticks and stones
So cease in your activities , you don't know who owns Jack Jones
This poem is dedicated to Mandy who influenced its writing
I love singer Faye Wong's wide hips, broad shoulders & girly bones
'cause they remind me of the tragical love life of ***** Shirley Jones
whose ultra-crazy bitchiness coërced her to caterwaul in surly tones
as had buck-toothed Jimmy Carter's robotoids, fitted as early clones
that could whop the *** ***** of each of **** Jagger's burly Stones

✓ THE DOG THAT COULD READ BOOKS ~ There was an amazing dog that could amazingly read books. I wanted to meet this dog. I drove 1,600 miles as fast as I could. I killed several people. Finally I arrived at the dog's house.
   "May I please see the dog that can read books?"
   "He's over there," the dog's owner said.
   "Where?"
   "See that shredded paper? Follow the shredded paper!"
   There were many cubic yards of shredded book pages. I
broke into a trot. I had arrived. There he was: THE DOG! The dog was tearing up a large book. "Hey mister! Your dog's tearing
up that book. Why's he doing that?"
   "What a dumb-*** question!" The dog's owner sniped. "He always tears up books after he's read them!"
   "Oh, yes of course," I said as if that was the most logical thing that I had ever heard in all my life.
Shna Oct 2018
A fifty hour week,
sat behind my computer screen
I earn my keep.

Ensuring a single bed and four solid walls.
Ensuring five hours of sleep,
three ready-meals and a shower.

This office full of clones
justifying identical existences.
Fifty hours surrounded by reflections
and copies of those who only imitate the successful.

Isolated from their lives
as they are from mine,
in sorry grey cubicles like cheap tombs
decorated in this months spreadsheet wallpaper.

An ant farm on the eighteenth floor,
corporate and corrosive
a logo for a Queen.

I can work this Saturday, no problem.
I cancel plans.

A 60 hour week.
Above all else
life should be enjoyed.
Lawrence Hall May 13
I have never been one of the slacker drones
I have never been one of the sheep-y clones
I have never eavesdropped on lovers’ moans
I have never seen Jesus in traffic cones

and

I have never watched The Game of Thrones
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.

— The End —