March 2017 archive

Slam Poem – The Veldt –

Visual Aspect – We are the visual aspect of the concept of my poem –

Slam Poem For The Veldt:

  1. What I have lost:

There was once we loved. We felt lust, touch, of a certain many of us.
Soft mothers voices, once cooed and calmed,
But now, we rest to the caress of a machine’s song.
Fathers once taught, though their love was not.
But rather, felt, as though you might melt at it’s astounding must.
We no longer are at that poisonous state.
Love is no more than a mere mistake.
We have programs now, that design lust.
To give us touch, but to what extent can we trust?
Elders once gave, they’re stories away, sharing their might, with what is now spite.
Now we are no more than a machine’s game.
A way to say we no longer pay.. attention.
We now forget what we knew, a world where what was voice, is now to text.
A world where we had not need for the new upgrade, or the newest Imac.
I-touch, yes we-touch. We have forgotten our history.
We have cleared it one to many times, we have forgotten our minds.
Left them behind, in trade for our new robot kind.
“Mom, Billy’s gone.”
Do not worry.
The machine answered for mom.
Billy’s clone will soon come.
Our media machine will not stop, leaving behind those who are not taught.
Those who are not taught how to pose, to know what social-status quo.
Those who have risen, who have tried to leave their prison, are our target of machine ammunition.
We once saw friends as those whom we spoke.
But now, we can have 468 of which we don’t know.
Our machine minds are which we run on.
We once had facial features, which are now but a recognition system, or only a machine vision.
We have made a decision for collision, deceived of a belief.
We are oppressed, distressed, by an intelligence we have not yet met.
A disobedience, a lack of ingredients but instead, a meaningless greediness.
We have forgotten our voices, along the way, trading them in for our new robot way.
We are all one of the same, no longer looking at our places of fray.
We are no longer love, pain, happiness, or worry, but just an emoticon, shown by our profile’s notification.
Our media is a game of tag, of empty likes, fulfilled by careless swipes.
We choose whom we like, by seeing their pose whilst hiding our woes.
We are depicted and seen through our clothes.
We have forgotten who we are, now only a machine rather than seeing a human being.