A Poem for Humans

Clockwork

They are clockwork.
They can never be like us.
We think. We learn. We feel.
They compute.

A machine knows nothing
of love,
of friendship,
of loss.

They are not self-aware.
They have no will,
no sense of purpose,
no hopes or desires.

Always limited by their programming,
They can never be conscious;
They cannot imagine;
They do not dream.

A machine cannot compose a song,
dance,
write a poem,
or paint a masterpiece.

They will never understand,
They will never know
What it means to be,
To be alive.

Machines are too simple.
Computers will never be human.
Robots will never be autonomous.
Androids will never live.

We are human, yet
What are we
but clockwork,
but machines?