Aetate Electrica.

You can always count on me to bring the dystopian vision of the future to my first poem of 2021.

In Latin “Aetate Electrica” means “Electric Age”. I think this would be the best way to describe this poem. We have come pretty far, in a relatively short period of time, and still have a long way ahead. Just have to make sure not to make the same mistakes that doomed human societies in the past.

I hear something electric

a distant cry,

sound translated by my eyes

into pixels,

showing,

shining metal glowing,

on the factory production line.

It’s metal building metal.

Automated engineering,

constructing structures

of unthinkable proportions.

The sky is further disappearing.

Glass and concrete,

crawling closer,

covering forgotten heavens,

shadowing,

poisoning eternally,

the darkened lower ground.

Morality is long gone,

not required,

to increase,

that ever-demanding

human output.

The old resemblance of light,

transferred,

through the wires,

radiating,

far from bond-creating,

cold and stale version,

of anyway forgotten ray.