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| <<<>>> |
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Ghosts |
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| Created by Decius at
| [+ favourites]
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The Flesh
Wrapped about Bone
Coarsing Red Lava
And the Source, Pulsating with Rhythm
The Tips
Further Reaches of the Universe
Heated,
Tingling
And Cameras
Floating in Liquid
Gyrating
Moving in and Out
Energy Pockets
Bursting and Burning
Fueling the Machine
Jumping, Talking, Looking
Called the MitoChonDria
A Miniature Machine
Flowing in the Lava
And the Machine Glows
And the Lava Flows
And the Cameras Revolve
And the Flesh Heats
And the Speaker Yells
And something floats about
Inside the machine
Calmly observing
Not of the machine
Not of the source
Ignoring and ignored
Yet the Source would not pulsate without it
The cameras would remain docile and immovable
The tips would remain stagnant, cold
The speaker would only murmur
And the red lava would flow no more.
It touches all, everything, from the entirety of the head
To the minute machines that operate it
Some unseen
Unfelt
Unknown thing
Floating about
And the machine,
It uses all its little machines
And big ones too.
And it searches for this thing
In the world about it.
When it touches the machine
With every pulsation of the Source
And remains an omnipresent resident
Leader,
God,
Purpose
Bundle of Energy
Within the machine...
An organic entity.
The only organic entity
The Self.
A loyalty beyond words, spanning all the world. |
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| Created by Decius at
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| Comments |
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