Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Wednesday, May 5Th, 9 :52 A.M.
Mood: Gloomy, Poetic
Music: Postcards from Far Away, by Coldplay
(Please Listen to the Included Music Below While Reading this Poem.)
Mechanical Gloom, A Poem
A dark sky.
A spoken word.
The smoke pouring from the mighty stacks,
above the foggy cobblestone street below.
People shuffling too and fro.
Nowhere to come.
Nowhere to go.
The gears still turn.
The steam still pours.
The machines cannot feel.
They will continue to turn until the end of time.
Until the stars fall, the earth cracks, and the seas boil.
Even then, when all is dark and cold.
When all is dead,
and all is gone.
They will continue.
To what end I cannot say.
They are still there. You can see them if you wish.
They still work, they still toil and exhale their black smog as if sighing.
Though cracked and covered in rust and soil.
They work on.
They are all that is left.
Can a machine feel?
Can it love?
Can it hurt?
Can it die?
Or will it sit forever, in it's own mechanical gloom.
(This post originally contained a sound byte, please open another tab and click here to listen to it.)