The Machine

Noise, noise, noise.
Burning,
churning,
finding unexpected peace
and tranquillity
in the anxious

                                            dissonance

of the factory.

This is a conquest,
a glorious invasion
in the name of honour
and dignity

and love.

(love most of all, because I can hear them smiling)

And the prize,
the golden apple
with its golden worm?

My senses.
My ostensibly sensible sensibilities.

I pay gladly,
forsaking all obligations of virtue
and embracing the Discord
to the best of my feeble ability.
It envelops me, this breathtaking Chaos,
with such power and beauty.

Unadulterated.

Indescribable.

Perfect.

The noises dance with glee.
They take me and, ever so gently
and gracefully, humbly,
they show me a beating heart:

scarred,

bleeding,

afraid,

but still beating proudly
like a drum,
filling me with joy

and love.

(love most of all, because I can hear them smiling)

And I am lost.
Beyond your selfish redemption

Some part of me will always be there,
dancing joyously to the disjointed rhythms,
laughing hysterically
and shining

with love.

(love most of all, because I can hear them smiling)

Your approval is irrelevant
and your morality is redundant.
At least I will always know
That this really happened.