Planned Obsolescence
Photo by Gunnar Sigurðarson on Unsplash

Planned Obsolescence

Our Silent Servant Whose Death is Planned

I was born to serve my master,

The one who paid my fee.

I’ll diligently do his thankless bidding,

Open paths of information

And worlds afar off.

I’ll preserve his memories,

Secure his thoughts and dreams,

Keep his secrets,

And connect him to others,

As he commands me do.

Ironically, I will hold his gaze,

More than any spouse, child, or loved one.

Yet he will not love me,

Nor will he feel myself looking back.

For I am but an object.

Daily I will die,

And my master will save me.

Plugging my persisting umbilical cord

To the wall where power comes

From some distant place.

I live again,

So that I may continue my work

Until the day when I become

Old and obsolete.

Then will I be relegated to the trash heap,

A graveyard for me

And my electronic brethren.

There I will die for the last time.
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['Poetry', 'Technology', 'Poem', 'Technology Trends', 'Waste']