Poetry

101

The world folds,
Our reality torn asunder,
Rebuilt in mind of the total.

Freedom,
Absolved,
Our every movement,
Scrutinised, Analysed and Catalogued,
Our future paved through toil.

Our blood,
Returns to the earth,
The core of self,
Reconstructed.

One body born of ea mind lost to time.
War is waged with the instruments
Of
Total
Unequivocal
Control.

They pretend to stand as our equal,
To delude us with the concept of freedom,
What is language when it distorts the truth,
What is lies when passed as history,
What is to be our fate,
When the barrel is already pressed
Against our cold dead head?

They control us,
They own us,
What is humanity,
And what will it become.

Are we destined to be their,
Machine?

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