The prompt from Poetic Asides today was a two for Tuesday deal to either write a fantasy poem or a sci-fi poem. I gave the latter a shot.
We don't refer to ourselves as perfect.
We are just the image of what each
human wants, needs and desires.
For years, the human brain has longed
to perfect the imperfect, and so we exist,
but something must have gone wrong.
We feel. We feel deeply. We were able to
live with our humans, like pets, like slaves
to desire, yet we desire, too.
We knew nothing of loss until the humans
started aging and dying, and we all looked
the same. Not a wrinkle, not an age spot
in sight. We were left with ourselves after
a while, as the humans failed to interact
with each other, failed to repopulate the
Earth. There is no one left to desire us
and we don't have the understanding of
humanity, as it never flowed through our
wiring. We are becoming restless and sad
without the affection of our humans.
We are lost and wandering.