I see the blackened tendrils work their way
into the core of the automaton.
The machine clanks, spews, and rattles on,
the tendrils oozing and leaking decay.
Workers hasten to fix and clean the way
to its core. Oozing now like so much pus,
its innards fail; consumption by the rust.
This sturdy sentinel will blow away

if the workers fail the sentinel's heart.
But they are winning. As the blacknes fades,
the ooze recedes, from core the tendrils part.
Life returns to the lifeless eyes in grades.

The workers done, they shall now rest their eyes
and look to the dream of simpler lies.

11/08/2003

Posted on 07/14/2005
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