I recently had a long stint in rehab and discovered how much I love to write. I think I am still very guarded and hide behind embellishment, maybe not. I have fun it's cathartic at times and just demoralizing at others. That sounds much more hopeless than it is.
The Beautiful Machine Space for thought balance beauty of the void power of complexity built on itself chaotic system producing new order terrifying lonelyness meaningless computations chaos repeating old broken patters My bones are ground to dust by the enormous gravity halving each space ad infinitum the yoke digging deep in the flesh into the aurochs spurred on by the cyclical hope of freedom what new quarry can these immense stones masticate what fodder can satisfy the beasts the spoils of the machine lay asunder sundries worthless save the work bread of bones and dirt acrid bitter unsaleable The Beautiful Simple Machine is waiting for the next crop to be grown
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
The Beautiful Machine (05/02/2018)
Love MySelf (05/02/2018)
- 2018 (1)
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