Thursday, March 31, 2011

Day 23, Sonnet 23

These gears and cogs, this burnished-copper’s sheen

Too soon forgot with steel’s imposing gray.

Forgotten too are hands, for these machines

Do make the fickle body fade away.

What’s, progress, then? Shall hearts be made of wires

And joints be fashioned from these silver plates?

Shall love be merely a programmed desire

And war become an automated hate?

Gone are the days of soil ‘neath our nails

Or knowledge of where clothes are e’en sewn

As trains by steam alone traverse these rails

And worlds expand beyond our narrow homes.

Industrial, this brave new world appears

But progress’ joy does fashion other fears.

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