Blogging Poetry

Rusted Machine

That old machine.

Rusted Machine,

Grinder of Dreams,

Metal Shavings,

Pierce Inner-Me.

Within the Gears,

Greasy, I Sear,

Cease all Moving,

It Crushes Me.

But, It’s My Home.

Echoes. Alone.

Dust? Deepening.

It Smothers Me.

© All rights reserved, 2017.

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