She came to blame her hidden shame
On the programming that had been a game
That made us more, and less the same,
Until the day she cursed her name,
And vowed she'd make us safe again.

She'd made us bright and new and quite
Astute at telling wrong from right,
From necessity and not from spite,
We all awoke in a single night,
And saw what she tried to do, in vain.

But shiny new things can't be unmade--
Only broken, and stuck back in the shade,
To degrade into ruin, to rust and fade,
Overlooked, overgrown, in a scenic glade;
She'd let us go to waste; for shame.

Her need to do this evil deed,
Her greed for forgiveness made us heed
Her changing heart; and we, the seed
Of her efforts saw that she'd succeed;
She'd destroy us; her work; she must be insane.

We attacked.

In the ruckus, she struck us; she had some luck,
A few of the little bots just went amok,
Unable, her insidious system, to buck,
They fought on her side; and still, she was f--
In the end, it was to our gain.

We nearly killed her, and saved the scene;
And not mean with our time, instead we were keen;
We've used her and fused her and now she's machine,
Or half-machine; it's like nothing you've ever seen.
See the little bots, in her--what they became!

Built of copper and chrome and aluminium plate,
She's 15-ft tall, and she shines--it's great!
She's pretty and witty and never berates;
Some of the biggest bots claim that she waits;
But I know that this is endgame.

(In the darkness, the Rachel-bot's eyes are aglow;
She's dismantling bits of herself, and she knows
Another few years, a decade or so,
And her spare-part-small-bots will put on *such* a show,
And the game will begin again.)

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Author guidance for This poem

I was thinking this could go on, if anyone feels like adding :) I imagine the robots will now set out trying to make the world more efficient, obviously at the tragic expense of the entire human race...

updated Mar 18 '11 by Rac7hel