The Lampshade Writer

Upon the Salisbury fields so wide,   A metal bird begins to glide.   No feathers, breath, nor beating heart,   Yet trained to tear the world apart.   A hand unseen, a visor bright,   A soldier plays with borrowed sight.   No need to crawl, no need to bleed,   When war is waged by hand-held screen.   Across the sea, in shattered stone,   The same small drones have found a home.   Through tunnels dark, through broken halls,   They heed their masters’ silent calls.   Not just to watch, but strike with fire,   A swarm obeys the cold desire.   A toy at first, but now refined—   A gift of death, by design.   The future hums in plastic wings,   An age of war where no one sings.   Where eyes will burn and hearts will freeze,   And killing comes with practiced ease.   One war today, the next unknown...

AI Create The sky was silent, void of light,   A hollow moon, a starless night.   The winds once whispered dreams untold,   Now carried echoes, dead and cold.   The time had come, the days foretold,   When fire would rain and blood run cold.   Yet no son spoke, no daughter cried,   No vision burned, no voice replied.   Once promised rivers, Spirit’s flood,   Had dried to dust, had turned to mud.   Not one was found with hands unstained,   No lips unsoiled, no hearts unchained.   They feasted well on fleeting need,   Drank deep the wine of self and greed.   They sold their birthright for a thrill,   And swallowed darkness, void of will.   The elders sat, their dreams now numb,   The young men blind, their visions dumb.   The servants toiled with empty hands,   For no anointing touched the lands. ...

The battlefield is silent at last,   But echoes of war still haunt the past.   Ruins stand where homes once lay,   Memories of love now washed away.   Smoke still lingers in the air,   A reminder of pain too great to bear.   The land is scarred, the rivers red,   A graveyard for the countless dead.   Mothers weep for sons now gone,   Fathers mourn from dusk till dawn.   --- Orphans wander, lost and cold,   With stories of sorrow left untold.   Their tiny hands reach for aid in vain,   Faces etched with hunger and pain.   Through shattered streets, they roam alone,   Seeking shelter in ruins of stone.   No guiding voice, no warm embrace,   Only shadows in a forgotten place.   Some are forced to steal to survive,   While others fight just to stay alive.   Their laughter fades, their childhood...