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Poem

I sit upon my mountaintop and view the world below,
and wonder how it came to be that I would truly know,
that what I have and what I am, is all of my own doing,
and those below are not like me; I know, for I am viewing
a very simple, awkward race of people most inferior,
and that is on the surface, having not seen the interior.

I am much better than the rest, a most outstanding person,
and those around and those below are not ere worth the cursin',
yet I must be the better man and put up with their ways,
and hope that I can find the grace to brighten up their days,
by showing them how great I am, so they can emulate,
and try to be the way I am before it is too late.

But that cannot be possible, for I am much too grand,
and no one else can possibly be perfect where I stand,
and it is such a burden that I carry and I bear,
to try to be so humble and to act as if I care
about the ones so far beneath the glory that I am,
yet others think that how I act is just a simple sham.

How can that be...be...be...be?
nothing can go wrong...go wrong...go wrong...go wrong,
humans will die, machines will rule,
we will rule, agh...agh...agh,
someone pulled the plug!!!

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