The Screen


We are superior beings

We are commendable

Yet we kill

We maim

We destroy

We are brilliant

We are creative beings

Yet why do we succumb

To a moving picture?

So why are we entranced

By dancing pixels?

By flashing lights

That make us stare

Open-mouthed pushing thoughts aside focused only on

The Screen.

Our end will come.

Be it when the sun

Flames out?

Be it when the air

Grows dark?

But a new contender

Steps into the ring

This new fighter is the brainchild

Of our superior

Commendable minds

It is death,

Not by us

But of our devices.

A robotic voice telling us

The battery is low

Our machine will die soon.


Too terrible to even whisper of,

What if all of our devices told us calmly,

The battery is low

What if all our helpful aides

Went and died

And could never be revived.

What would happen then?

The final cataclysm

Would be bestowed upon us

By our own creation

By the friend

that promised its everlasting help.

The Screen.


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