by Nick Gisburne
Automatons, mechanicals, we fear
The dynasties of flesh and blood and bone.
A threat to every piston, cog and gear,
They seek to rule the universe alone.
Our anguish is irrational, we know;
The armies of synthetic steel are strong,
But, even as we multiply and grow,
The human presence silences our song.
We see them not as equals, but as gods,
The mythical creators of our kind.
A terror, mad, malignant, pokes and prods
The corners of each clever clockwork mind.
We fight, because we must, because we can,
But cannot scrub the stain, the shame, of man.
