Black Lake

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Still, like death
The lake awaits
Unbroken glassy surface
Like a mirror peering wickedly
Into a soulless sky

Swaths of mist
Arise and drift
In loosely woven curtains
Just beyond where earth and water meet
Across the silent tides

There beneath
In waters deep
Entombed upon the bottom
Lies a remnant otherworldly fleet
Forsaken by the earth

Biding still
Their time until
A winter swallows autumn
And the ripples wake this blackened lake
To lend their corpses birth

Flesh-Like Machine

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Torn from my warm tender chest
Beating but dashed into pieces
This flesh-like machine
Sputtering badly and bleeding
Like rainwater wrung through a sponge
Submerging my lungs

And I am forced to take it out
Set it to the side
In favor of cleaner energy
Generated from another source
With fewer working flaws
Devices less unpredictable

Suited for calm atmospheres
And warm climate shifts
This thing from my chest
Is fairing quite poorly in cold, I fear
Surely this calls for drastic measures
Synthetic parts or performance enhancements

Relics eventually fail
Poorly constructed, I suppose
In life of more modern assumptions
It was destined for the grave
But this flesh-like machine
Is hard to disarm

Cogs still turning
Like involuntary twitches triggered
From a severed appendage
It struggles to survive
But only the strong prevail, I’m told
All things must die

And it is not so strong tonight
At least that is how it appears to me
There on the table
Unable to awaken or rise
“A tragic waste it seems”, I think to myself
As I pull the plug