I Burned My Machines Poem by jasper jcs

I burned my machines.
That old stereo never was good company.
It never listened,
only told stories of sad old artists and their sad old lives.

I burned my machines.
That telephone never had great signal.
It always broke up.
No one ever heard all I had to say, did they care anyway?

I burned my machines.
That cheap clock always ran slow.
24 hours slow,
and i arrived a day too late.

I burned my machines.
That damned car always made me sick.
No wind only stale air.
And I wanted to feel the ground below, not only potholes.

All plastic became ash and the land lay in smoldered heaps.
I paused to smell the lingering smoke.
It was oddly peaceful,
but i also felt terribly alone.

The smoke began to fade
and a girl appeared.
She told me she had burned all her machines.
We began to walk.

We felt the wind and the ground below
We felt the sun.

This girl was no machine
because she truly was good company
She always listened,
when i told her of sad old artists
and their sad old lives.
We were the same.
Her clock was always running late too.
24 hourse slow.
We were both a day behind,
behind the world's ideals.

We walked for hours, maybe days,
seeing the real colors and feeling the real wind.
Breathing the real air, and sharing a real voice.