The Empathy Device

Another day had been replaced,
the dawn had all but shattered;
the spotlight then was one of sin
but that no longer mattered;
the pictures then were but a lens,
to see into the past.
he flipped a switch and with a click
found peace again at last.

He lit a cigarette,
and then he laid back with a laugh.
The night before him was a blur,
It never seemed to last;
he woke up to the sound of her,
but all he saw was glass.

The Empathy Device,
is to a normal person nice;
and in their mother’s voice
it sings enchanting lullabies;
And that machine to them it sings,
the holiest of hymns;
in a voice so warm and nice–
they wish it not to end.
Given the chance, someone, entranced
might never wish to leave;
and that is how such a device
could make someone a slave.

The Empathy Device,
was designed by Digidream;
sometimes a substitute for life,
it could be many things:
Infinity laid in a row,
with dancing shapes untold aglow;
circles of blue and green.
The patterned markings on the floor,
will take you out to Sea;
from which all the pilgrims come-
to which the pilgrims leave.

First there are glasses for your eyes,
a harness for your chest
it holds you tight inside the box.
the music helps you rest.
You may float off on a cloud
of multicolored seas;
and you may feel your mind unbound,
and feel a kindly breeze.
to see creation from above
most beautiful to see;
though just as well some make their hell,
and for it pay the fee.
for some believe that suffering
alone will set you free.

Try to relax now that you can–
and be a king, or sing!
You can live in ancient Rome,
or rise above and see;
some choose to be a common man,
whose name is writ in sand,
no need for statues or for greed,
they seek the promised land.

As with your memories, and thoughts,
that before you seem to rise;
this new machine can blur the line,
between the dead and the alive,
you can see them all,
that long ago have passed
you can sit and chat with them
and reuniting laugh;
grand as it feels, it is unreal,
to see the dead walk past;
to see a long dead father smile,
with pain you understand;
you’re living in a self made dream
and everything will pass.

An emperor, how grand to be!
perhaps a score of more to see–
a fleet made by a human being;
some strive to learn when they adjourn,
as do the opposites in turn;
some wish to never know
what magician with a prism
could unweave the seen rainbow.

And that is what they all paid for:
they needed someone else;
through the metal corridor,
for absent hands they felt.
When those who loved them,
all around,
kissed them as they slept.

Inside the coffin as it softens–
one draws their own dreamworld;
they color in the Seas, the trees,
and fill them full of birds.
To be a part of such a work,
oft leaves one short of words.

To sit Godlike above your world;
you must realize
it all comes through a power cord.
the faces digitized;
Each image of a pleasant stream,
every frame that seems alive.
is but a colored photon beam;
with so short a time to shine.

And soon you will feel as though
you’re in a meadow land
swatting at the flies and bored,
with a face that’s far too wan.
But there are other things to see,
a brothel or a band;
an evening with Miss Make Believe,
to love her if you can.

And when you’re there without a care
Miss Make Believe comes in;
she is a character for free,
made for the best of men.
Though none can settle,
they all leave,
they all leave her behind
so that they might go free.
and after all their troubles find:
some peace of mind, or any peace,
peace in those vacant eyes;
to see oneself caught in a gleam
is to believe the lie.
They act as though they hurt,
data they sense is pain.
and all of this is but a hint:
our progeny can dream.

To see a look in such an eye,
all know it was designed
a pleasure model, kind and free–
never to want nor cry;
they haven’t yet programmed–
a character to lie;
I guess that is a human trait,
that we use to survive.
They cannot yet get them to hate,
but they can be surprised–
that pleasant fake,
of standard make
no sinner will despise.

The programmers of the dream
believe that they can love;
at least as much as they can tell,
they react to sights and smell,
and when offended, you can tell,
we have made a new god
in the image of ourselves

A carefree world where calls of birds
flit through the healing air
where one could lay,
and nothing say
at peace without a care;
with this machine, the product seems,
a substitute for life;
and those who live inside the box
never go back outside.
For they have became a slave
a slave to their own lies.

When fantasies have taken over,
and that is all that’s real;
no human being in a mirror
could through the vanity see clear.
They saw themselves as they would wish;
Immortal, beautiful and rich.
And when they left they faced themselves,
just another man;
they faced themselves, without the wealth
and saw just people plain;
their fantasies had wrought on them
an ever lasting pain.
And these poor souls were out the soles
of shoes walking the rain.
Trying to feel like it was real
to have control again.

Some who had their own stayed on,
all night and every day;
they explored their mind as such
in every single way;
They were the best, the fools, the rest;
their life wasting away.
They ran their simulations
and they got led astray;
and on that day, they unprepared
found such a Monster living there.


Published by

Brandon K. Nobles

Brandon is an author, poet and head writer for Sir Swag on YouTube. With 630k subscribers. Since February 2021 he has written for the most important and popular series, News Without the Bulls%!t and the least popular work on the channel, History Abridged. Brandon joined the channel in late January, since then his work has been featured every month in News and History. His novels and works of fiction have also been well received, and he continues to be a proficient and professional chess player. In his spare time he like to catch up on work.

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