Arcane Factories Iv
Lone machines hum and sway,
back and forth to the rhythm and rage.
Optics lens reflect refract and collect
the thunderheads of blood-soaked clouds,
build violent, violet lighting shimmers,
capers, flickers, and fades.
Lancing, dancing striking into a sick parade
Of the damned the beaten and lost march
in time to the metronome
as the eye of creation watches
from afar its sliver light
graces all in its cold embrace...
these white things, gaunt emaciated
Wispy figures in the gloom
damaged and damned doomed to
toil in the Arcane Factories
of nightmare and holocaust.
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