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Here We Lie
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Dark Poetry Caught up in the ramble.
The faces of the samples.
Prototypes of this artificial nature.
Pinned down in a matrix, oh a sterilized concept of a world.
A battlefield lies—deserted with bent, disfigured steel and scrap.
Wars birthed from a test tube trap, variables overlapped in experiment—experienced leaders fall.
We fighters, programmed soldiers, die.
Overrun.
Posthuman machinery famed.
Blamed from the finery of the refinery.
Pick and pick—disect—inspect.
Purging knowledge and dispensing the pitiful space.
Replaced witha hollow shell and wires—welded by the fires—oh, here lies our legacy.
