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Array ( [sid] => 38011 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Night of the Engine Master [time] => 2004-03-09 18:38:27 [hometext] => 'an illusion of society in general, looked at from the outskirts' [bodytext] => The engine master slowly pokes his oily head up from out the grimy depths of the battered machine.
With five withered fingers at the end of each flaky hand, grasping in between the gnarled teeth of the rusted cogs.

His crooked, spindly arms shake and quiver, hither and thither as he struggles to wrench his pale, emaciated torso out from the screaming gears of the machine.
As it clatters and squeaks he shudders and shrieks, then slowly he drags his twisted legs o'er the juddering pistons of the corroding machine.

The machine is broken and should not work, but it does.
We hate the machine but we still feed it;
With our blood as its oil, to cease it from seizing,
With our sweat as it's fuel to keep it's iron heart beating,
And our tears as water to prevent overheating.

It is now the time of year that the moon hangs low,
low and dark,
dark as deaths shadow,
It is now time for the master to once more try to incarcerate our spirits with his hollow mind,
So that he may empower his twisted, dissipated brain.

The master opens his mouth and half croaks, half shouts:
"Now I must take your soul!!"
"we are your keepers and will pay you no toll!!!" shouts one.
He stares with dim eyes as I point to the skies bearing my chest emblazoned with a crest of truth and freedom for the wise.
He crawls back into the machine with a piercing scream to stab my ear,
But I know he'll be back, when the moons black next year.
[comments] => 3 [counter] => 153 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Osiris [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )

Night of the Engine Master

Contributed by Osiris on Tuesday, 9th March 2004 @ 06:38:27 PM in AEST
Topic: DarkPoetry

The engine master slowly pokes his oily head up from out the grimy depths of the battered machine.
With five withered fingers at the end of each flaky hand, grasping in between the gnarled teeth of the rusted cogs.

His crooked, spindly arms shake and quiver, hither and thither as he struggles to wrench his pale, emaciated torso out from the screaming gears of the machine.
As it clatters and squeaks he shudders and shrieks, then slowly he drags his twisted legs o'er the juddering pistons of the corroding machine.

The machine is broken and should not work, but it does.
We hate the machine but we still feed it;
With our blood as its oil, to cease it from seizing,
With our sweat as it's fuel to keep it's iron heart beating,
And our tears as water to prevent overheating.

It is now the time of year that the moon hangs low,
low and dark,
dark as deaths shadow,
It is now time for the master to once more try to incarcerate our spirits with his hollow mind,
So that he may empower his twisted, dissipated brain.

The master opens his mouth and half croaks, half shouts:
"Now I must take your soul!!"
"we are your keepers and will pay you no toll!!!" shouts one.
He stares with dim eyes as I point to the skies bearing my chest emblazoned with a crest of truth and freedom for the wise.
He crawls back into the machine with a piercing scream to stab my ear,
But I know he'll be back, when the moons black next year.

Copyright © Osiris ... [ 2004-03-09 18:38:27]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Night of the Engine Master (User Rating: 1 )
by Remy on Tuesday, 9th March 2004 @ 06:40:39 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

ooo, this is goooood... i like stories, tell another!! lol... good write! ;0)
~Remy~

Re: Night of the Engine Master (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Tuesday, 9th March 2004 @ 07:10:40 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Striking imagery employed here.
I particularly liked the description of the man exiting the machine. Nice ryhmes too.
Good job. Perhaps next write you could do it from the inside?

Re: Night of the Engine Master (User Rating: 1 )
by spider on Sunday, 11th April 2004 @ 12:49:07 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

The machine is broken and should not work, but it does.
We hate the machine but we still feed it;
my favourite lines,
like this one because its clearly about one thing but seems quite metaphoric (to me anyway but im crazy)

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