Machine (daily)

January 2006

every day it whispers to me
and by the end of the light
what was predicted has passed.
I can learn anything I want
and everything contrary.
I resist it from rising to falling
but in the light of prophetic vision
how long can I keep it up?
Machine wins this day
drawing me deeper into the madness.
Even the voracious beast would serve kindly,
a reminder of my mortality
a reminder of my wants and needs.
Yet even those fade away with the light of day.
With a calculating distance that grows familiar
I watch them pass.
Slaves of passion and vice,
on display for looking but not touching.
Walking pin-ups, dolls uninspired, all of them.
They cannot understand the symmetry of a circle,
its grace and the perfection of its simplicity.
They cannot fathom the logic
that burns new paths through my brain.
Each day the sun sets, taking an iota of humanity.
The smallest speck.
Like a recursive calculus-born engine,
that shred of coldness gradually grows
feeding itself on its twisted self.
The sun rises, but never as high as before.

Reviews

[Jola]

Mechanical metaphor poem... well written
Greetings Jola