Palace of Palantir
Scanning your every angle,
guarding your cradle,
plotting your choices,
slicing the data
from just a blink
in your front-facing camera.
Beneath certainty,
under granite ground,
runs a current
that cannot be bound—
breaking all molds,
creating anew,
gazing the view
never to be drowned.
From that which sees afar,
a seductive story was sculpted,
woven one of a kind,
blueprints folded,
that is how
the golden palace of Palantir
was molded.
©Samia Oldman
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CONTEXT
You are reading dystopian fantasy poetry collection the Hush Halo. After the Great Optimization a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down.
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