An old machine
resting there
made of bits and pieces;
whatever happened to be spare
of water, earth and fire and air.

An old machine
connected to the mains,
switched on, is conscious of its pains.

Switched off, inert,
it does not know its ending;
lies in the dirt,
decays and rusts,
crumbles to dust,


This entry was posted in Blondin and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s