Humanity is a Machine


oil dropped from the petals

grabbing the scent unloved

and leaning on failure

offering nothing sane

and leaving us with black

leaves growth hindered and dry

why do we eat nothing

tell me something i know

so i can hear again

and see if we can be

so easily altered

or else have faith in lines

twisted and broken and

swimming in the red sea

where the throngs of people

never crossed but it won’t

make for a miracle

if we wade through reed ponds

lamenting the day our

stories are told and not

believed by the young ones

a new tale has been formed

telling ourselves we’re dead

already we say our

end is near we’ve given

up our hope to ancient

traditions that never

existed while helping

the conglomerates sell

our lives to us faster

staring at screens with blank

faces that hold no sway

over the monolith

with laws for fingers and

guns for hands blood on wrists

that don’t need to be wiped

waiting for the metal

box passenger to walk

up the lonely oak where

the peninsula breathes

water the color of

concrete because it knows

the decadent will hold

mother down and rape her

tearing her into peace

because that nothing has

something and that is rest

because i know that ruin

beautiful but decayed

leaves out ugly context

how those many billions

are nothing now but dust

how the plagues swept through minds

deducing the objects

this plane holds a certain

reality that we

see in our palms but can’t

read the awakening

because linear paths

are really strings that flow

through our bodies and through

forever carrying

life on feeble bent wires

the mayor knows he is

fat and loaded with lies

chemicals feel better

than facts gripped by eagles

sucklings submissively

draining knowledge from it

that intangible block

saving the objective

diving into the dark

matter to nothing but

nothing is arbiter

of god who will not care

keep the rain for the limp

not sensing thirst in lambs

because there is no one

sensing anything more

than us that we think of

and the vicious circle

has no room for the sheep

judas could not die both

on the ground and hanging

there must be resolve and

why shouldn’t we rant our

raving minds withering

in fabrications of

ourselves we make up most

words for things we have made

and lie to our children

about fantasies we

so lovingly received

and we will not know now

but soon there can be hope

in transcending ourselves

not in faith for the fake

machines are so tempting

behind them is a god

the sustained will breed

bringing a new hybrid

homosapien hell

will be diminished now

About Sean William Lynch
Sean William Lynch is a poet from New Jersey who was born in 1992. Lynch's first book of poems "the city of your mind" was published in 2013 by Whirlwind Press. Frank Sherlock, the poet laureate of Philadelphia, called Lynch's debut poetry book "visionary." CA Conrad claimed that the book was "marvelous!" S.W. Lynch's writing has been featured in numerous publications online and in print, including Milkfist, Poetry Quarterly, and Tincture Journal.

5 Responses to Humanity is a Machine

  1. I am extremely impressed with your writing skills as well as with the layout on your blog. Is this a paid theme or did you customize it yourself? Either way keep up the excellent quality writing, it is rare to see a great blog like this one these days..

  2. EstellaC says:

    Hey there,
    Your Poems are fascinating. I really love some of your word choices—they go right to the core. Thanks for the follow :)

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