Last night I had a dream,
a post-apocalyptic, dystopian society
ruled by machination and machinery
with an overlord hierarchy.
Then I came upon vestiges of words.
Hand crafted
inspired
manipulated
slaughtered
suppressed.
Was it a sign
that once upon a time
a scorched earth was traversed by humanity
and words of poetry,
crimson roses, scarlet sunsets
and chickens that crossed the road,
was it proof of all things god imagined
and created
converted into artificial heaps of recycled rubber, wire and metal
ultimately leaving one to wonder
who was left to flip the switch
run the code
and safely land the drones?
And who would dare cut the power cord?
© Connie Song 2023. All Rights Reserved.
