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 AI 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.
28. The Haptic Ghost
I reach out through the screen to touch your face,
And feel the warmth beneath my fingertip.
Though miles of ocean lie between this space,
I feel the curve of every silent lip.
The glove vibrates with micro-pulses fine,
To trick the nerve and tell the brain a lie.
A miracle of digital design,
That brings the distant beloved ever nigh.
The physical world is thinning like a veil,
As textures are transmitted through the wire.
The old constraints of distance start to fail,
To satisfy the heart’s most deep desire.
A ghost of touch is better than the void,
By wires and copper frequencies buoyed.
29. The Garbage Miner
The heaps of plastic and the rusted tin,
Are sorted by the laser’s piercing eye.
To find the treasures that are buried in,
The mountains reaching for a smoke-gray sky.
The robot fingers pluck the copper trace,
And salvage cobalt from the broken phone.
To give the planet back its verdant grace,
And leave the virgin mountain peaks alone.
The waste of yesterday is gold today,
In circular loops where nothing goes to die.
We find a cleaner and a smarter way,
Beneath the gaze of the recycling eye.
The earth is healed by what we once threw out,
As progress turns its heavy head about.
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