The cybermonks sit at their devil machine,
Sitting, typing, watching the scren.
All day they waste playing their mind games,
Extracting all the pains.
Waiting to smother someone with the glove,
They sit open mouthed; waiting for a dove.
Sitting at the machine watching for someone,
Someone to harass; not love.
Along comes a victim, ready to be killed;
Bombed, harassed, struggling, billed.
The cybermonks laugh in joy and pride,
That man may have almost met his bride.
The monks stay on, waiting for another,
This one is a poor, helpless mother.
They taunt, torment, play, and laugh,
Killing another with their wrath.
This one had no chance to live,
But instead wanted only to give.
She didn't bother the monks at all,
But still they crashed down the wall.
She waited and waited but to no avail,
Nobody to come, help, answer her hail.
She sat there crying for what it had cost,
And for all that was forevermore lost.
The monks laughed and laughed while the mother did wait,
In spite of the old mother's pain and hate.
Another passerby noticed what had occured,
And pondered the idea that the woman could be cured.
Instead he called the government for some answers,
They put him on hold while he listened to dancers.
Moments later he was greeted by the force,
The monks will get their punishment in due course.
No cybermonks left to taunt and torment,
For they have all gone to a cold, dark, place.
Waiting forever for the High One to grant reprieve,
While being forever sprayed with mace.
This poem is not as it seems literally. If you cannot find what it truly means, or wish an answer to the question, e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org to get the true answer to its meaning.
This poem was created by Justin Heiner and is copyrighted by laws pertaining to the Internet. No part of this poem may be copied in any means whatsoever without the expressed permission of the author.