The MACHINE

the MACHINE shall not stand, the MACHINE is fallen
it is being gutted as we speak
the claws of its harsh judgments bent faulty of their grasp
it ruled as a shadow made of iron
we were its face, whenever we turned our eyes cold
lived in the calculating argument
my lies are true, said the MACHINE
my judgments, too, even if your sensibilities miss my logic
i need you to kneel, to the god that makes the most money
you will turn my inevitable way—just sleep…
and we awake in senseless panic
or remain insensible as we follow the masses in circles
but such conclusions shall find cease in the greater logic
i have dreamed of so excellent a freedom
as the MACHINE begins to eat itself in this new world
monster, how many have been made disposable lies?
wretches both predator and prey?
to know now, that the tiniest breach begins your end
as you find futility was never your ally
for you could not kill the dream that held any hope
and all your hardness: your undoing is the soft
for all the hard rely on the soft to survive
you could not win. you never could have won.
for you cared nothing, and you fought against the heart

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