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Once lost, the gifts of God can never quite be replicated.
Poetry
Science Fiction
Their delicate feathers are soft,
Some stained deep midnight,
Others pale day
And hues of sunset and sea.
Their flocks traverse the broken hemisphere,
And though there is no rhythm in their hearts
But the whirling of gears,
And no rhyme in their blood
But the pulse of synthetics—
And though their wings are but molded polymer
And their minds sing only endless variations of silicon,
They are beautiful.
They fulfill a near-forgotten role
In the planet’s sickened ecosystem,
Scattering the reassembled genes of hope
One seed at a time.
And yet
They perplex their creators,
A new world’s finest artisans and thinkers,
For they refuse to
Sing.
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Copyright 2009, R. J. Walker Miller. All rights reserved. R. J. Walker Miller is a writer of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and poetry. In addition to writing and his day job, he enjoys reading SF, the outdoors, and listening to music. He currently resides in the American Midwest where he is working on his novel and several short stories. His work has appeared in the magazines AlienSkin, Haruah: A Breath of Heaven, Fear and Trembling, and Mindflights. You can find his website at http://www.fluxbucket.com/.
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