Rage Of The Machine (1/3)
First of three parts, don't read the others without reading them in order.
Not inspired by anything similar to the title.
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A profound scent rose from the wall,
a nasal bombardment of aerosol, as i let loose upon
my night. Diesel, twanging the strings of my life, around me.
I turned with a sharp flick, perhaps to snare him.
That prying follower who ever approaches. Nothing.
I ran...
Below the Hill of Meggido there rumbles, powerful,
It stands, invisible to all, moving breathless to nowhere
Shining torturous body, ripping judgement upon mortals
Angered saviours splash down upon the tallest point,
The desolate raven climbs among this rusty mountain
Amongst a populace of depressive mould, insects to a
cold infinity.
Armageddon is awake, it slumbers no more as
He is loosed for a little season, to watch us move.
Cautiously arising from his cradle, to peer through the
veil of the storm, into civilisation, and it's rage softens
stone, through a soothing of pain in the sounds of the
beast, an Angel dies.
I threw the bag away, bounding in great leaps
through watered thunderous perfection. Every step raising
the dark waves around my soles, ever refreshing to
my body, and as the rain encased me in shadow,
I am reminded of my mortality.
I dash sideways into an alleyway,
up,
up the steps, the side of the building,
down,
down the rain fought back, i tired to weakness
under the bombardment of heavens bitter hand...
Assaulting shots of lightning spoil the horizon,
Intimidating, blazing above the hills, and the
Tallest tree I cannot see below this horrific
Weapon, apocalyptic militant blasts from above.
Fist to hard block, the drops came to a messy halt as
The rain charged the arms of steel, shouldering its
Presence above.
Fatigue is a non-factor, peace is forever winked by the eagle
Circling a prey that cannot be harmed, and the wings know
That it is foolish; for the beast cannot be fought by such confidence,
Only freedom upon flight, the kind that birds have, but not next to
The machine. A resonating shriek from below the treetops tells the
Eagle it is time to return home, to a safe shelter from the storm
It is teasing.
I stood breathless upon the tarmac roof,
catching little more than water in between painful gasps.
I felt the footsteps follow me across the street, dogs angry
And they climbed after me. The clang of the steps being steeped
Was hollow and impaling, though deep in the surrounding hills there
Was another mechanical melancholy resounding the woodsmen’s
Horn, and I felt it like no other sound - bound through my bones
Like a hungry beasts jaws, my paint laden hands rose into the night
And brought down the stars,
And with them, the oceans of heaven unleashed fury upon my face,
Racing a warning to humanity…
