Spare Parts

 

The reaper pondered, with ireful thoughts he toyed

And if he was capable of emotion, he'd be annoyed

For the new world around him, was not man made

Here there was no fear, of death, by his razor blade

He imagined scribed words, with his third eye blind

And what he imagined, was in his murmuring mind

'I cannot harvest those, bereft of souls and hearts...

...You're not mine to reap, for you have spare parts'

And he gazed upon their hives and uniformed guise

Knowing that mortality, would ne'er be their demise

For there's no place in Hell, for the mechanical man

And Heaven's, an intelligent creation, of an AI sham

He'd once wreaked havoc, but now he chose to shun

For he is as dead, as humanity and his culling's done

And although the reaper, ruminated, it was all in vain

As he went back to Hell, from where the robots reign