He hasn't told me what to be at fault,
Just acts are the only goal for our existence;
No one really felt the marriage of our lives
Unless they had reasoning and powers of health.
Unburdened by imagination, the robotic few
Accelerated their conversations with acts.
In the same place they blacked out,
The other side was fiction and the plain
Side was fact, an imaginary bargain had taken place.
Something was in the place of someone,
Fifty percent reacted, the other half considered
Disputes of the dust and the disease.
There was a malfunction in the air of talking
And electronics bashed the bashers.
These were robots of the higher sentiments,
With being in the open, wonderful seizures!
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Comments about this poem (Robotic Acts by Naveed Akram )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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