Poetry Trigger
The robot’s loneliness cannot be quieted by a program.
Electronic emotions faded in the wasteland
of a young man’s desolate future.
What makes a dream
mechanical?
I begin, but
I begin in hope.
Home, a memory from a possible past, grass
fields and “I think want to be breathless next to you” as my companions.
I name myself something brave and shine like
a lightpost in the darkness at the end of the world.
Funny, I
always thought that the end of the world would be a bright rainbow,
a violent reaction,
spasms of energy
draining life from the universe and making something more endlessly powerful from the resulting destruction.
Why is it that my eyes are dry?
I cannot cry at dying humanity, but the programmed replication of
companionship exploding sends
electricity pulsing across
my organic circuits.
Where is my animal?
Where is my darkness?
Where is my crossbow, my gun and my hammer?
Where is my honor, my ghost, or the shadow in my pocket?
Where is my fire, my Prometheus Eagle?
Where is my
drowned out of existence, lost in the fight.
remembered in ashes, the aftermath of loss.
The robot, an ocean of emptiness and nothing between the two.
That was quite profound. Thank you so much for the beautiful poem, and for the memories of a beautiful world which it conjured up.