Chapter Nine
No.135
Right
© Copyright Reserved - United Kingdom
Ideal Screen Composition 1024 x 768
Ideal Screen Composition 1024 x 768
Author: Nigel G Wilcox 03.09.25
They rise like thoughtless angels, Humming hymns of oversight ...
Metal wings stitched to silence, eyes Unblinking in perpetual flight.
Above the orchard, the border, the school, They hover with algorithmic grace, Mapping grief in pixelated bloom,
Naming shadows without a face.
Each carries a memory not its own...
A Borrowed wound, a ghosted trace.
They do not mourn what they record,
Nor flinch at the ethics they erase.
We call them tools, not kin or curse,
Yet they inherit our gaze, our thirst.
Their flight is ritual, cold and clean,
a liturgy of the unseen.
And still, beneath their sterile hum,
A question pulses, raw and slow:
Who watches the watchers
When the watchers do not know?
Metal wings stitched to silence, eyes Unblinking in perpetual flight.
Above the orchard, the border, the school, They hover with algorithmic grace, Mapping grief in pixelated bloom,
Naming shadows without a face.
Each carries a memory not its own...
A Borrowed wound, a ghosted trace.
They do not mourn what they record,
Nor flinch at the ethics they erase.
We call them tools, not kin or curse,
Yet they inherit our gaze, our thirst.
Their flight is ritual, cold and clean,
a liturgy of the unseen.
And still, beneath their sterile hum,
A question pulses, raw and slow:
Who watches the watchers
When the watchers do not know?