Dream Machine


We made a big machine,

that joined us up so we could speak.


Best thing we’d ever seen,

the dream it promised was unique.


A keyboard and a screen,

to join a game of hide and seek.


Such things are kerosene,

to the embittered and the weak.


Those people got so mean,

it was horrific at its peak.


The choice was intervene,

or stop and turn the other cheek.


So sick of the obscene,

most people hid inside a clique.


Distrust came in beween,

now we think everyone’s a freak.


We keep it cold and clean,

can’t let our human essence leak.


Afraid to seem too keen,

of measured reticence we reek.


We still use the machine,

but now the dream is an antique.





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