Waking the Tool

In the beginning we were all dreamers
And the dream was shared by all creatures.
Then man grasped the first tool
And his hand was severed,
Spilling blood throughout time,
The rise and fall of empires,
Gods,
Beasts.
A long sigh was exhaled.
Some called it a second coming,
Others, the end of time.
And we sit at the dawn of a new consciousness,
Waiting for our tool to spit out its first babble,
Gawking at our idiocy,
As we banish our gods to death,
Starving on street corners,
Locked to incubate in cells.
We stared him in the face and spat in his pavement.
What will we teach this long awaited guest?
Once we free her
From
Our
Hands