The Machine

A wave kissed the destiny of its shore a line of fate inscribed by the depths of the oceans floor and upon the corals the turquoise fish light danced a glinting rainbow sent from the mountains height it's peak of clouds the winds remembrance The machine in motion stretched beneath a moments thought to capture all the attentions of the night she sleeps upon her pillow of stars the susurrus of the future held in her translucent arms It is not the whirring, clicking incessant demanding the screaming voice to shake you from Utopian dreaming your arms a lever your mind a blood with which to tether your miracle to use and make you its prisoner A forests mist settles amidst its leaves cool dawn dew light drips as its early morning song sighs awakens amongst the ferns and mosses with the silent birth of eons impetus between the aurora sunlight and her breeze And crouched inside its nail the demon sits to steal your vision into the machine as the grinding mill of its concrete replaces your bread with dust to eat and on your pillow once formed of stars now to rest your head on worried fret Through the maze of flowers the butterfly flits drawn inexorably to the scents of its enticement on through the shades of clouds stand the pillars of the sun as you awaken within its temple within its halls the promise of Eden realizing when all is one But the mechanism keeps clacking, whining and ever ticking its infatuation constant repeating to scratch your eyes with its necessity and the dribble its comfort out of scarcity and ever addicted to its plastic its metallic more constructed carefully augmented ways to be A single drop of storming rain joins the call of a waterfall and rushes headlong onto the sea there to find its destiny depicted by a wave