A Reapers Machine
Hot white harvest
a bone dry land
years have been spent building
this reapers Machine on desolate Sand
American madness
An empire of a dream, dark
start the towers gleaming.
Reaching into open sky as ravens
gather to blackened
out a sapphire sky
reapers machine
Dead at last
Among the shafts of wheat
there in it’s rusted stance,
Headlights broken dead eyes stare
Light nova’s off shattered glass
shown bright like Sunbursts
on the Fields of barley and rye
A Machine built on the backs
of the damned
enslaved
Lost and insane in distant summers ago
rains hide far over the mountain range
White horizon seam
hot white sands
A bone brittle days
years have come to pass
the machine of man derelict at last
on these brutal wind swept lands
American empires of madness
dream of a reapers machine
Dead in its last stance.
Eyes vacant gleam,
under a harsh yellow sun
Among the fields of wheat and barley…
Copyright © Poet Tellaferro | Year Posted 2021
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