Enter: The Machine
This is a world
That was not chosen.
A series of consequences and
Generations of misfortunes,
All make up my presence.
But we continue to eat,
Sleep and take our medicine. As if
Everything was meant to be apart of
We accept it, we force our love upon it.
This glorious haven.
It is not my own and I do not want this.
The Machine is a lie, an illusion, a ladder which
Only leads one way.
Up, up high until it can not go further;
Up until it falls, until it breaks and
The Machine will collapse in on itself.
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Comments about this poem (Enter: The Machine by Caitlin Balm )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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