A Million Stars
Vold Book
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The track of dancing lights shown boldly and without reservation It was programmed by the technician, who fought to keep his job Amidst the pressures of modern day Rome Inward were these pressures cast Bombarding the natural tranquility of his mind With grotesque and deformed impressions of stress and illusion The result of strain and fractured remedies That society prescribed to keep the cogs of the machine well-lubricated There was nowhere to turn, except back to the work day The assembly line was unjustly wicked, carving out bodies like meat Every rivet had its place, and the connectors must perform without hesitation Again and again, without fail September happenings spoke of the clarity of frosted panes The cold was creeping in fast, all around And he knew that he was alone in making it through the night Watchful wanderers sent the evil eye his way It was a hall of broken mirrors Deflected light shattering perception His hands burned of limitless tools Each one primed to do its job All combining in unison To weather away the quorum of sanity Slipping into the meticulous plan The consensus of atrophy turned to stone Toxic ruminations circled around heretical belief That there was another way to get through this life Collective justification enshrined misery And the altar of sadness appeared before his eyes It was everywhere that light colonized A manifest destiny of hypocritical vexation Whether or not the reality appeared did not matter For the droves of contractors performed best under veils of deceit Secondary misfortune Sleep was in tune with this denial and restored only the necessary indentations The integrity of the machine was unsustainable, precisely as designed Unfit for work, seven undertows claimed passersby Who wallowed in halcyon drifting Expectations that sovereign luck would save them However, this was merely an apparatus of visual, beleaguered idealism Succumbed to surrender and usurped for the purpose of additional grief Steel arms, and inlaid sockets, fought with furious force against conspirators Who motioned silently with signals, gesturing defeat to gain higher ground Against the juggernauts of progress Hieroglyphics volunteered ancient meaning to rattle the cause But all had been consumed ages ago And there was nothing left to rectify destiny nor callous friction Misfortune! Tinkering with all of us, Finds its way, regardless of unified front Hidden passageways, canaled beneath the surface Like fossils of ancestral effort: arrows, sharper than death In violently calculated suggestions Echoing footsteps Appealing to the younger folk So soon to transform riddles into epithets And eulogies unwritten by a disgusting mind That conquered entire cities without remorse Far along its journey toward the stars Technological evolution heaved constructions Uniform causeways that furthered the hiatus of reason Philosophically invalid fallacies, the currency of standard trade Motioning onward, beneath the salty, dusted plume The threshold's knee revealed vulnerability Questions of volcanic debris undermined the cyclops Whose behemoth yawn swallowing ships sailed Creating the winds that we know today All of this said, the seed of majestic correction Lay buried for a million years, unmoved Futuristic fantasies are the bourgeois commodities Of speculating teens, vaping in the metaverse What's real is not a fixed proposal, but rather a shifting orb Of foggy gradients, unlocked by the tokens found at a museum The Nautilus was being constructed, along the assembly-line But fate would intervene An older revision of a mechanical part was mixed in inventory And the tensions placed upon that joint were not qualified for hyperspace The collapse of a million stars into solitary perspective, naturally rippled out of control And stately ceremony was postponed, as the fallout was analyzed And its implications ascertained Before the antecedent branch had matured Revolutionaries seized their opportunity to deal the death blow To capitalistic dogma and its foregone conclusions At times of darkest dictatorship, nihilistic resolve is necessary To restore the absence of a negative Concrete mistakes are no better than uncertain forecasting With something to replace it, becomes possible to grow And change, but somehow, I suspect that we're not ready for the reins We never were, and that is our problem We cannot stop the march of time, nor should we But also, we are not prepared for its responsibilities Compassion is a simple tool, simplistic yet effective An underrated device that has not been given the chance To prove its eventual worth Overlooked and forgotten We all ask, "what is wrong with the world today?" And do not want to hear a sensible answer Objectives remain unclear, and vision is limited at best An avalanche of glacial proportions the poets spoke of long ago But they were marginalized and outcast No one asks the philosopher what he thinks about the disease Because he is touched by it the most And outward appearances are all that matter here So he is blamed for his own lack of utility And the Earth, in revolution, sails around the sun As it will continue to do, once the skyscrapers have all settled And the vines and ferns have reclaimed the metallic aperture Of the crimson eye of humanity's misplaced crusade
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