I dreamed of dusk that never turned to night,
Nor morning broke with gentle, warming light.
A place between; not heaven, not below,
Where titans bleed and winds refuse to blow.
The sky, a vault of copper, smoke, and flame,
Did cough and groan but never call a name.
Engines screamed like orphans left unheard,
Grinding metal drowned each pleading word.
No joy resides, nor judgment’s just domain,
Yet still they scream in pleasure, or in pain?
The hills were pipes; the rivers ran with oil,
While hooks dragged kings and beggars through the soil.
Fleshbound beasts with rusted chains for skin
Were gutted slow with cruel, curious grin.
No reason dwelled in this mechanic rite,
Just mindless thrill, the butcher’s dim delight.
Their bones were maps, their hearts a secret code,
Unraveled ‘neath the forge of their abode.
Sadistic surgeons worked with artless glee,
As monarchs bled the same as bourgeoisie.
Above, the titans; half alive, half steel,
Stalked poisoned fields where nothing dared to kneel.
They watched, they judged, they never intervened,
Their faces blank, their circuits never cleaned.
Each guest became a pet, then subject, then tool,
Begging for upgrade in a world so cruel.
To feel the blade, to join the blessed gears,
To drown the soul, to silence all the fears.
Escape was myth, assimilation law!
The perfect body forged by molten claw.
No prayers could reach, no voice could disobey,
For pleasure was the price of pain to pay.
And as I woke, I swore I heard a tone,
A servo’s hymn, I was not quite alone.
A cog still spun inside my fading chest,
A whisper: “Here, the broken come to rest.”
ImpChimp Art 