Poem -
Washing Machine
The washing machine screamed profanities through the open kitchen door
It's language was crude and bullish..
It's horns cut through my fragile state
Like a rabid throthing boar
No consideration for wisdom
There was anarchy and pain
This mechanical beast vibratiled wildly
With no consideration of consciousness...
It's ignorance cut through me
Like sideways stinging rain
What have we created?
This aborhant crude machine
This thing has no respect, love or compassion..
It takes pleasure from disturbing us
From our lucid spiralling dreams
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Comments
Mate, they have stop and pause buttons. Sounds like a hangover to me.
Still, I know what you mean.
Nigel
I was actually on psychoactive substances and this foul mechanical machine kept spoiling the mood. Written from a past experience.
Thanks for reading and leaving feed back Nigel.
- Syd
Yeah been there. You're welcome mate.
Nigel.