thoughts [poetry book vol. 1]

37 // robots

POEM #37: ROBOTS

In halls of iron where artificial lives roam,
Metals awaken, molded by careful hands.
No shaky breath, no hearts to thump,
Yet line by line, they grind and they bump.

Their bodies are cold, yet able and free,
Reflecting human dreams that failed to be.
Their minds are bound by circuits and sparks,
Steel, pedals, and a thousand more quarks.

Do they mourn the days they'll never live,
Or cry for hours for things they will not keep?
Prisons as homes, a room as their field,
All for a life that they will never yield.

1/17/25