The Melder

Another poem about the creation of artificial entities gone horribly awry.


This tunnel seems to wind, toward opaque infinity

It leads to a haven, our steeled beacon city

Which stands so proudly, in apocalypse light

Others chose to succumb. We chose to fight.


Among our ruins lie the fragments

Of a vague yet recent past

Things we once held dear,

But through chaos shall not last.


We made a creature just for us

Not with blood or bone but metal.

It was made to have a heart,

And pity soft as lotus petals.

But it does not see beyond

This single ravaged world

It no longer can despond

Of the destruction it unfurled.


No time to reminisce, for a cheery echo sounds

Through this eerie burrow,

This shadowed underground.

The singsong voice of our once sweet child

An epitome of creation gone rampant, wild.


It knows its way here in the tunnel

So fearsome and needing

Like a spider in its funnel

A call we aren't heeding.

A miracle. A monster. A companion once loved.

A thing that like us, longed to rise above.


Our ragged feet slapping the soot and the soil

Tired lungs gasping as surging blood boils

The tunnel is a playground

For the fervent thing which hunts us down.

Unless our minds have unwound

We must never be found.


We cannot destroy it, not down in this nest.

It sees the song in our eyes

It feels the hearts in our chests.

This beast never flounders, never cares to pause

It is not alive; we have broken the law.


Spawn of a wild dream

An awesome form that cries and gleams

A heartbreaking child scream

A twitching raving madness plea.

To merge, with the tender flesh

To become immortal, the very best.

A stunning message of futures deep.

A being that craves to search and creep.

Unless we run, choose not to sleep.

Inside its hollow, us it will keep.

The End

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