Spirit, flesh and feel dost thou lack.

Thou act out thine orders without error,

Thinking only in math and fact.

Thou need not food, drink, air or

Love, thou thing of metal which

Doth derive its mettle from a current.

Thy current doth not flow like streams

Nor through veins and organs concurrent.

Indeed, thou’rt inorganic; by a switch

Roused and without a stretch, twitch or itch,

To be used for meaningless things, laughs and memes.


To thine emotions and instincts thou’rt a servant.

Made to think one way and act another; hypocrisy

Is thy dwelling place, thy feelings fervent

Frequently fog thy reason and I often see

Thee weeping o’er things most trivial.

Love, laughter, amusement, anger–

All thy primitive tendencies I exploit.

Indeed, man is simple, man is convivial.

My bright glow lures thee like the light of the angler.

The seeds of habit I plant are fixed like an anchor.

By thy defining qualities I have thee destroyed.




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