The Robot

The robot is at work again

Begins her work with little will power

This robot is not a machine

She has feelings

Her emotions are wrung high

The tears are

Falling, falling, falling

To the ground

Ready to drown in water

Except sinks in the never ending

Pile of work

Typing, typing, typing



The robot is a woman

Locked up in a prison cell:

Called work

Ready to explode from

The heaviness

Of work life

Wondering if everything

She is working towards

Is worth it


A machine drenched in a pile

Of orders that need approval

With an angry gust of wind appearing

If orders aren’t approved on time

Guilt eats at her


Life’s a mess

Her words flutter

Into a hollow hole

Leaving no impact behind

On the people she wants

To bless

With her story of

Hope and restoration


Her life seems to be trivial

Of no consequence

Of nothing

But pure emptiness

Loneliness, and a lost hope

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