Saviour in the Machine



Collected fragments of old, old things inspired this 1st draft

Saviour in the Machine


Did your soul cry unheard

Before it was lost, drowned in the wash of old memories

And of enduring rages.  A ghost of dead glories,

It succumbed beneath the weight of faded tragedies.

Dead beneath impassive skies.  Dead with the whimper of a scream

Before becoming a spectre of the machine.


And did your mind spin its own tangled skein

And so warp and twist into its own darkened recesses?

Until, battered and torn it curled in on itself;

Into a maelstrom of inconsistent paranoia’s and excesses.

A last spark of normality overwhelmed by entropy, never again seen,

Consumed utterly by the machine.


And were you so lost in yourself that you could not hear

The symphony of your own destruction;

And did your own raging demons not allow you to see

The fires of a self-lit internal combustion.

Could you not follow the paths laid before you?

Roads that would offer redemption.

Or were you so caught by the song of the gods in your head,

A song of guilt and of hate and damnation

That you gave yourself up to the machine.


The Machine;

An artificial malevolence, self-made killer of dreams.

From afar so tempting to embrace

It’s automaton desert of emotion.

Run from the wreckage of what once was a life, so fucking soulless.

A triumph of the obscene.

The victory of the fucking machine…


…So how long has it been since the stars shone for you.

When was there last magic held in the night.

And when did you stop being able to hear the song.

When did you close down and shut out the light?

When did you destroy your own nature?

When did you begin to pretend you don’t care?

When was it you said “Fuck living this life”

And give in to inconsequential despair?

When did you give up believing?

When did you start all the self-deceiving?

When did you die and fall out of the scene?

When did you create the machine?

And can you recover?

Can you find some kind of spark?

To bring you back to some resemblance of life

And thereby escape from the dark?

Is there something out there, some kind of external salvation

That will free you from this self-imposed automation?

Is there something so beautiful walking your way?

That you’ll see finally, with your uncaring eyes,

And notice the light of the day?

Is there?

Well, is there?

Goddam it, but is there?

Is there a star in the sky you can follow

And rediscover some sort of dream

To lead you into brighter tomorrows

Away from the bloody machine?

Is there something beautiful, is there some kind of hope

To break the paranoid delusional Catch 22?

Is there perhaps a saviour for you?


And should there be a rediscovery of life, remember me,

The solitary whisper of the past in your head.

A ghost that remained from old dreams.

A history of walking with gods sometimes and reaching serenity,

If all too briefly.

I am here and alive and I am praying for a resurrection. I don’t want to be dead.

I am all you once were and what you should have been

A saviour within the machine…

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