iMachine

a machine.
void of imperfection.
void of the pretense..
unaware of iT's affliction..

the affliction of order.
a condition rarely seen.
it's perfection stems clean,
from untouched symmetry.



a machine feels no anger
no stirring of irrationality
iT knows not of enlightenment
iT doesn't understand 'free'.

iT acts on purpose.
iT's no concept of cruelty
when it cuts and restrains
iT's concern is efficiency.

pain is an empty word,
for if a wound is inflicted
iT is merely damage in need of fix
not a sensation to be lifted.


iT see's no motive
no reason for retaliation
an object in the way
needs only speedy calculation.
 
unable to panic at all
not affected by a situation.
iT only seeks out the solution
to this problematic equation.


iT.. has the keys to infinity,
the ability to wake from iT's slumber.
but the Machine.. is trapped in its self
cause infinity cannot be defined as a number.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

When we allow machines to run the world. We allow all emotion and human touch not to be involved. Great description in this poem. Men can become machines. Soldiers can act as one. Each with delegated movement with training. Machine did have purpose. In the end anything ran by electric will be man's downfall. Best know how to live with no electric and be able to hunt/protect your self. Great poetry. Made me think again. You always do.
Coyote