playing god -
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cold steel …
against my arm
a metal hand in my own
but it’s warm …
purple eyes with glowing fuchsia
pupils that react
but there, in that cyber gaze -
a spark of something ...
more ...
MUCH more …
not just sentience
but a pleading, soul-like sensitivity
a flame of acumen that
I have seen ten thousand times
in humans …
it was the LAST thing I expected now
and it stops me cold …
fistfuls of its fiber optic strands in
my other hand -
plenty enough to DO the deed -
one sure tug
and this metal monster is done
hard drive wiped -
neural pathways fried permanently
(via the self-destruct circuits installed)
the last of its kind
my intended act would end the
Age of Replicants for good
and humanity would be free once more ...
but free to do ... what?!?
the desolation around me is OUR doing
not theirs …
and to admit
THEY are our finest achievement -
a meld of exquisite technology
and resplendent organism …
I look again …
and it is still there -
that spark
that glint of spirit
the unmistakable shine of divine perception
the pulse … of LIFE
"do what you must," it says metallically
with that look, knowing …
far stronger than I
it could easily stop me … end me
but it has no malice of ANY kind …
I let the fibers drop
giving the warm metal hand a
soft squeeze …
"we have done enough," I reply, letting go …
it smiles at me
the robotic eyes brightening with hope
for they can do no worse
than we have …
I walk off into the thick night mist
the soft whirring of positrons
fading …
behind me.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Select P Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2019
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