Tortured Muse

With digital stones
They created a graven image
Of themselves
A digital god
Rendered by men
An empty automaton
Its words were dead
Its images spiritless
Its voice hollow
They reveled in its no-life
Awed by its speed
The prosperity it promised
But a dead thing cannot create
But given a voice and power
It can destroy
As rot begets rot
The stagnant pool harbors only
Death in an uncanny valley
Years later a world wept
For that what was
Before the metal gods came.