Literature
The Robot
'It doesn't think, it doesn't feel,
It doesn't laugh or cry,
All it does from dusk till dawn,
Is make the soldiers die.'
Cranking cogs and puffs of steam,
"God, no!", "It's coming!", children scream,
It staggers along, a metal mass,
Whirling copper, pumping brass,
With jabbing swords, and waving scythes,
Each weapon means a man's demise,
Bodies are scattered across the field,
To no man's power will it yield,
Why is it here? What does it mean?
Perhaps it is Satan, reborn a machine.
Knows it not kindness, pity, or love,
Only hatred for all, things here and above.
Yet, lo!, what is this? Could it be finished?
It is rusted and