I've seen the old man on the cover of a magazine.

His back is hunched, his head slightly down.

His eyes are that of a child's, soaking the drippings of the world around him.

Light blue and full of wonder, he is trapped inside a body that shrinks a millimeter each day with Newton's theory.

Except, the man is no apple.

One day he will explode with color and enter a world we can only dream.

A world with rainbows on every corner,

A world where the reddest of the red, the cherry red and the greenest of the green, the irish green, apples never fall.

A world where old doesn't matter but knowledge exists in bright spitting images.

Mechanical World

He, made by man.

A product of an ever changing world,

The looks of a mortal with no feeling or emotion.

Only dong what he is programmed to do and only learning what he comes in contact to learn.

The eyes of heaven being not that of God, but a junkyard of alloyus and parts not cared enough to be salvaged.

He, a product of man.

He knows no killing, only protecting in a world where there is right and wrong, and where wrong towers over right.

In his own world where parts can feel and understand human life.

He, a product of man in a world where mortals run together and machines walk alone.