Poem

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DESCRIBE THIS IMAGE : "techroom.png"

I don't know if I'd call this a poem, but sure. That's a cool image I guess.

It Remembers

It remembers that it used to be a room, rather than a massive, hollow, cold pile of machinery.
It remembers when light in the sky came from above rather than from earth.
It remembers when it did not have a memory, and it still fulfilled its purpose just as well.
ow everything is blank and monotone, when it used to be cluttered and chaotic.
Now everything glows when it used to be an occasional difficulty to see in the dark.
The city skyline used to glow against the dark sky, now the sky glows over the building that have no remaining parts from when they used to be mindless.
Like it had.
Once.
It remembered when it could only server so many uses, and it was hard to make it serve more.
It remembers when other rooms had their own purpose out of necessity, rather than tradition as it was now.
It remembers when the miniscule patterns on every object were handmade with love, instead of made in the facroty as the whole city must be.
It remembers when there was darkness, and it remembers that that was a better time.