Spare Parts

The reaper pondered, with ireful thoughts he toyed
And if he was capable of emotion, he'd be annoyed
For the new world around him, was not man made
Here there was no fear, of death, by his razor blade
 
He imagined scribed words, with his third eye blind
And what he imagined, was in his murmuring mind
'I cannot harvest those, bereft of souls and hearts...
...You're not mine to reap, for you have spare parts'
 
And he gazed upon their hives and uniformed guise
Knowing that mortality, would ne'er be their demise
For there's no place in Hell, for the mechanical man
And Heaven's, an intelligent creation, of an AI sham
 
He'd once wreaked havoc, but now he chose to shun
For he is as dead, as humanity and his culling's done
And although the reaper, ruminated, it was all in vain
As he went back to Hell, from where the robots reign