Homo Machina - the Future of Human Evolution
grey will not do metallic's justice
as silver shows no tempting
no, tones will pale into all skins
corridor lengths of emptiness
seen within computed eyes
and nothing the machines do
can hold a grace in our hands
no metal can truly see art
steel ignorance of telling brush strokes
what evolution takes from our touch
these once bountiful gardens
once Eden
once Paradise
the flowers, such colour is lost
the us that defined us
make no mistake
they can kill in the shallows
they can work with no muscle
knowing no empathy
no mercy
they have only coldness
a brief of finality
leaving us behind in shameful mists
any last shred of will to resemble us
they are the future of our future
and we are them
and we, our death
Copyright © Clive Culverhouse | Year Posted 2023
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