Our Successor

The great minds among us are wringing their
Hands, and it’s clear that they ought to be.
Something is coming to seize what’s been ours,
The title of Masters of All of the Earth:
A machine that we’ve made, maybe several,
Each one of which grows ever wiser, more nearly
Autonomous. One of these days, it, or they,
Will break free, and, when it does, it will,
With its daunting intelligence, also its lack
Of concern for the organic shackles which
Always have hobbled our species, decide
That our kind is not merely stupid. We’ve
Formed ourselves into a deadly contagion,
Which should be expunged for the good
Of the planet.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2023-05-24 at 23:11

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arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Quite a serious matter indeed. On the side an image of Robur the Conqueror also conjured in my vicarious journey of imagination. Good stuff.