In a world without compassion,
In a world of continuing AI,
No ripples come from a stone unthrown,
In the blink of a human eye.
No ripples come from the dumb
Unwritten blank slates of some
Tabula Rasa of Clones
Lying under their bones.
Colourless, without scent, designed but never meant
Decidely, not, heaven-sent, a cycle of life abated.
An ill-fated sojourn is fated.
Man knocked off his throne by a stone,
Check-mated by a lack of DNA,
Relegated to a managerial role, today.
His sole purpose:
To ensure the efficient maintenance
Of sterile environments
Conducive to the rearing of clones.
Closes the circle of intent -
Measures man's descent.