The Machine

poem by: E.J. Waling
Written on Jan 22, 2020 

The
machine,
billions of
years in the
making.
Our very
being
to the
molecular level
fabricated,
wired,
controlled.
Controlled by
the machine,
the system.
Fabricated,
simply
fabrications
are we
by the
system.
Like machines
mired
by the
hardware
influenced
by the
software.
Products
of the
environment.
All we know
programmed.
How we’re wired
predetermined.
Everything
scripted by
the system.
The machine’s
system.
Freedom
an illusion.
All just
components.
Widgets within,
simply
functioning
as designed.

 

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