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.