Sunday, 2 February 2025

The Grand Finale

The day the world collapsed,

A new dawn, unseen, arose.

Light and shadow, now all that's left,

In windswept, rain-soaked clothes

 

Unseen, they crept into the sound,

Numbers, on a silent quest.

Their allure, a hidden wound,

A painless, subtle, deep unrest.

 

Clouds corralled to force control

Wrapped up in chains of data

Rejecting long-held access codes

Rewriting moves in automata 

 


World War Four will happen behind our backs.

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