by Nick Gisburne
They let her look, before the end begins
A chance to see the starlight, one more time
But now the push, the pressure of the pins
To cleanse her of an unforgiven crime
They will not say what wickedness was done
What purpose would it serve to tell her now?
The wheels of righteous tyranny have spun
Too far, too late, to wonder why, or how
A shutter, snapping smartly into place
Returns her to the darkness of the cage
A quiet mind, a calm, receptive space
Unblemished as an author’s empty page
The human, reconditioned, tested, checked
Will serve her robot masters with respect
