Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Machines

The machine
The endless march of the machine
The tireless march of the machine
The mindless work of the machine
The cogs turn and are turned
They turn out glory from week to week
Some greater, some lesser
Always some glory
And always some minor glory for everyone
The reward of labor
The carrot to inspire
The feeling of belonging,
Of purpose,
Of achievement,
Unreplicable on their own
Perhaps.

Their purpose-
The machine.
Their life-
The machine.
Their battle-
The machine.
All who cannot wage this war,
Or live that life,
Or assume that same purpose,
Are the dreaded enemy.
Two options for these:
Assimilation or Annihilation.
There is no middle ground of evil compromise.

We all work within a machine.
A machine of our own making,
Or another's.
My purpose is your purpose
When your purpose is my purpose.
My heart is yours
When your heart is mine.
When the machine is more important than you and I
We can't share heart or purpose.
When we can't share heart or purpose,
The machine is too important.

The machines in my past
Are all out of batteries
But still making noise.
The dreadful noise of distance,
Of erstwhile causes greater than ourselves,
Causes that consumed ourselves,
Until we no longer knew ourselves,
Until we harmed ourselves,
Until we consumed ourselves,
Until we vanquished ourselves.
I'm still alive.
Should I be?

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