I was Beautiful, Wild.

I was born Nature’s Child.
Twisted tree roots rocked me
to sleep and peaceful dreams.
My roots reached deep and free.
I was beautiful, wild.

Soon enough, drawn away,
plastic and chrome, I fell
into the engine’s steam
and cooked crisp, thorough, well.
The meat of my heart? Gray.

A Transistor installed,
power… bewildering.
Efficient circuits,
calculate, filtering
life’s data, without pause.

The many years passed by.
Yearly hardware upgrades,
and a new processor,
revealed what I’d traded,
My microchip? Tiny.

I am the Plastic Man.
Processed, all high-speed parts,
but Soulless, Suffering.
Replace it! The Child’s Heart,
Wild — Child of the Mountain.

© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: