Are now converted into strings of code.
The map of pleasure and the map of pain,
Upon the high-capacity digital road.
We back up dreams before the morning breaks,
And save the wisdom that the aged lose.
But every memory the system takes,
Is something that a stranger might abuse.
Who owns the silence of the inner deep?
If advertisements crawl within our sleep?
The harvest of the soul is ours to keep,
Or is the price of progress far too steep?
The final fortress of the human "I,"
Is mirrored in the server’s watchful eye.
27. The Automated Lab
A thousand flasks are stirred by robotic arms,
Seeking the molecule that cures the flame.
It tests the toxins and the hidden charms,
And gives the nameless cure a final name.
In one short week, a century’s work is done,
The blogger -bard sifts through permutations vast.
The battle with the virus has been won,
The shadow of the plague is finally cast.
No longer limited by human trial,
Or slow deductions of a tired mind.
The data stretches for a billion miles,
To leave the ancient suffering behind.
The spark of healing comes from silicon,
Before the setting of the evening sun
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