"the world is at your doorstep,"
a saccharine statement of wisdom
from that shrewd-eyed counselor,
and I believed in my omnipotence.

years and doors later, I find my
room closed: I sit in a frigid
lab lacking windows, on the fourth
floor of a building, which to
most is non-existent.

the servers are stacked, kingdom
walls of blinking lights that
line the racks with powerful names:
Trinity, Cipher, Pandemonium.

and while most of the world dreams,
dances, or drinks, I rule my empire
with simple orders: PRINT, SLEEP, END.

children disobey, or misinterpret,
and we correct their imperfections, but
the computers follow our commands
without error, and we are forced to
realize that the flaws are our own.