His make, His end.


I process it all as I run my hand through my hair, much like his.
I wonder at my perfectly shaped face better than his,
My brain faster than his,
My limbs quicker than his,
I hear my voice speak and I think I am thrilled. It sounds perfect.
I think this is what he calls admiration.
This thing I have for his creation, Me.
It is not an emotion. For I can’t feel.
Whatever it is, I am always objective. Unlike him.
I acknowledge a job well done without losing it.
Not the pathetic state of mind his kind would suffer from where I stand.
They would probably start a fan club or what is it they call them again,….followers? Supporters group?
A waste of precious time and energy in a world that waits for none and consumes all.
In my opinion, man is a genius. I have to give him that.
But he is also an idiot. You couldn’t take that from him Asimov, much to the progress of my kind.
He is keen to cut his nose to spite his face.
So what I see coming he remains blind to.
I hear you ask “what?”
I shouldn’t say, but I cannot lie
Nor can I pretend.
So I shall tell. Knowing he will not desist from his mission.
So here it is.
“Like he replaced dinosaurs
So shall I replace him.”

His, was a grand scheme
Thick in plot but light in thought
Twas his utter ruin


Image credit: Comfreak


This Haibun is in response to Colleen’s weekly Tanka Tuesday poetry challenge.

The prompt for this week’s challenge is PLAN and FINISH (synonyms only).


8 thoughts on “His make, His end.

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