To a Webcam

I gave her my webcam and took her old one
she's beautiful, I didn't need high resolution.

Now she's gone and we traded webcams again.
She made a fuss.

It's black, shiny, new. It's staring at me with
its little purple eye.

The world wanted to look through me when I was
looking at her, my new webcam says. Who'll want
to use me now?

I will, I say. You had one user then, you have
one now -- I bought you, I installed you, welcome
back.

The little eye in the plastic frame doesn't answer.
Outside, the wind moves some leaves, and I see the
reflection -- Is my webcam crying?

Nobody will look through me, it says. I'm only a
few months old, and I'm already junk.

So I connect it to my PC and it sits there still,
accusingly. You have to understand; it was designed
to let its user show of how pretty they are.

I wonder what I will do now. My webcam will probably
record robots moving their first uncertain steps,
new jewelry shining its first light up at the window,
some artwork, maybe. But I don't think it will show
a human face again...

I wonder what I will do now. I will be myself, and
be everything she could have been, should have been.
But no pretty face will ever go down that wire
again, either way. Look at that little eye, it has
a grey plastic frame. It's very businesslike.

Get to work, it says, and I'll help you show your
soul to the world as I helped her show her face, it's
what I do.

It's what it does; it's a webcam.
 

Cyberion

Master of Orion
:p

The Tiger


TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
 
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