Poetic Justice

Machines

They say that machines are things,
Things that were brought to life,
With circuits
And taught practices.
With science and technology.

Machines are metal,
They have no feelings,
They're sturdy and they rust.
Some are painted to be made pretty,
They hide behind a mask,
To try to make you forget,
Of all that's happening inside them.

But don't you see it?
People are machines too.
Nothing we do is of our own.
We're taught to think,
To breathe,
To smile and to laugh.
Taught practices,
Integrated into our minds, from day one.

We make other machines,
Because we try to deny the fact,
That we are so much like those discarded metal pieces,
That we put together to create something,
Anything at all,
That would make us feel superior.

We hide behind the masks,
Of beautiful and restful faces,
Of grins and colorful chimes,
When we try to deny all that's churning,
In the depth of our souls.

Our minds are sturdy,
Yet our hearts rust away.
We're broken, is what we say,
When will we realise,
All that's broken,
Needs to be repaired.
Much like those splintered pieces of metal
That cut into the skin of hands,
That are only trying to be helpful.

We're shards of nothing,
That needs to be pieced together.
We're stubborn and hard like metal,
But brittle and weak when tossed aside
As nothing.

Machines,
A word created by people,
Who deny their metallic minds,
Of who they truly are.