For Prophet
An Ekphrastic Sonnet
Your trivial queries annoy the gods!
Horse races, politics, lotteries, girls;
I am not here to calculate the odds
But to read the future as it unfurls
Behold, what approaches is passing strange:
Foolish mortals will teach language to speak
Weird machines they will carefully arrange
To let words themselves form patterns oblique
Faith in all human oracles will fade
All dying animals are fallible
Pronouncements made by objects we have made
Seem so objective, and thus, plausible
I see a future that worships machines
Tools will be prophets, no longer mere means
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.