A Moving Tale Poem by Lawrie Stuart Ronton

O cold tingly morning,
don't stand and stare at me,
with those strangely shaped eyes.

Not only you lie,
But he just doesn't die.
Three blows to the head,
A Robot.
Motionless in the horizon.

Shining, glinting matress, crystal
Burning metal.
Crackling in the afternoon mist,
I don't understand, what I have missed.

Message from Jones,
Emergency room filled.
Dead sky that is blue,
with the blood of enemies.

He makes his entrance,
into the night.