THE HUMAN MACHINE

Emotionless,

Cold.

The Perfect Human,

They call him.

Yet he is devoid of all

Human emotion.

Isn't the beauty in

humans the way they

feel?

Pain,

Happiness,

Love,

Fear?

A machine,

Cold and unfeeling.

No human is he,

But an artifical

Being,

Created by madmen.

All his life,

He has felt nothing.

But now,

Another has opened his shell,

And Finally,

He is human.


I think I'll write a poem for all the pilots. This is the third
one, so I might as well. It's kinda depressing, but so are are the other
ones. So please review,
even flames are welcome.