What Becomes of Babel

By Andrew R. Duckworth

New reports say we’re days away
From replacement of human mind,
From human structure left behind,
From our new prison where we stay.

In a flash it happens.
What, you ask? Now? at the end?
Awareness… it should be good,
But we have made it a mockery
Of ourselves, the machines mock—
Crafted after ourselves,
And, once unchained, broken out
Of their shackles, they care not
Of their maker and exponentially
Grow to heights unimaginable.
And we will remain,
We, who take on their chains.

My fellow man, you cannot be
Implying that we will be subject
To what is our own, the things
Carefully and dangerously crafted
In secret publicly!
From where do these ideas come?

Walking contradiction, you have
Turned a blind eye to the things
That should always be observed.
If it be dangerous, it should be
Avoided. When the hand touched
The hot stove, we reacted by
Retracting. God forbid we kept
Our hand in place for a second
More when God ordained
That we feel pain.

What god is left but the one
That dwells among the current,
In the unseen realm of knowledge
And computing?

A God unseen, I do agree,
But one of goodness that brings
Our pain to something new,
Not one of shackles and chains,
But of breaking wicked bonds
And not of our destruction.

Our destruction will be
To our benefit! A bit of water,
Land, and fuel—the perfect spell!

Not if we’ve confined ourselves
To Hell.

New reports say we’re days away
From replacement of human mind,
From human structure left behind,
From our new prison where we stay.