The machine

The machine

has taken on a life of it’s own

It has become purpose

without reason

purpose alone

It’s wiring are rules,

regulations

written for compliance

for blind obedience

only for perpetuation

The cold machinations

have no desire

no meaning

nothing but purpose

to survive and grow

And we,

we, are the lubricant

crushed

between the gnashing gears

to smooth the friction

aid the traction

and slowly, slowly

move the machine

forward

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