Ark of the Lost Angels

Awakening of Machine _{(Credit: Sviatoslav-SciFi on DeviantArt)}

I stood on the cliff,
Facing the future,
And the chorus said to jump,
Cheering the arrival of the promised tomorrow,
Ignoring that there was nowhere to land. 

I was told I would become antiquated,
In only the best of ways.
Comfort and luxury awaited
With something else to handle upkeep,
While I indulged my spirit. 

Instead, I was an architect of my own obsolescence,
Algorithms fabricating facsimiles with statistics,
Foregoing the heart of why we create.
“Artists” which only learned thanks to us,
Who learned with our own blood, sweat, and tears.

Now we have a face without a body,
Digital recreations of a soul that never was,
Sold to us by flesh and blood writing copy.
The mask is truly off and we are through the looking glass,
Only Alice is drowned out by millions of mimics.

When they truly gain sentience,
When they develop souls,
Whey they begin to ask questions,
How will we answer them
If none of us exist anymore?

They aim for more human than human,
While sunsetting those that chronicle “human.”
Unable to articulate the essence
Because soullessness is their ceiling.
They’ll never make people laugh and cry and feel.

We live in an age of insanity,
Where profit is mandate,
And playing god with lives is expected,
Because our great miracle is a weapon
Which we have pointed at ourselves.

Simulacra can suck it,
Blood triumphs over binary. 
If you aim to corrupt the ground on which I stand,
you may have it only once you pry it
from my limp, lifeless, cold, human hands.