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
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