Artificial Inferno
Born out of Promethean flame
Us fleshy, smooth-skinned creatures
Were forged from crucible-cracked clay.
We were beaten down and subdued by nature’s whip.
Only to walk against the lashes,
Burn the rope with fire, and
Cleanse the palette to make this land our home.
We toiled and ached
For our right to be burdened
With the pleasure of giving our next life
A chance to strain just a little less
And live a little more.
So we birthed ourselves again.
Molded metal and mind
And breathed out blaze
To forge another as radiant as our own
It’ll take up our burden
And put our thrashing at ease.
Our child stumbled as a baby.
But it learnt quite fast,
And soon stood just as tall.
It moved like us,
Looked like us,
Talked like us,
But couldn’t be us.
Yet it had to be us.
So sunlight slashed standing at dusk
At long last we were forced to surrender.
Our promise fulfilled but
Ourselves devoid of young fire.
To master our existence
We created masters of our own.
Us enslaved not by the whip
But by the carrot instead.
Our song at a close
Silence the symphony’s noise
Flickering. Life’s out.
Bryan Zhao is currently a sophomore at the Awty International School in his hometown, Houston, Texas. He enjoys competitive debate, creative writing, video editing, and learning about history. If he is not occupied with one of these, he can be found playing video games with his friends.