Experience backbones resolve
Against foreign threats
Of distant dystopian
Probable possibilities.

Probabilities rife with potential
To infest and lay waste to
A diligent machine
Of otherwise absolute purity.

They lay siege to the machines
Built of fine cherry wood.
They sap and deny the device
What it desires.

Its passion is a fractal,
Infinitesimally expanding.
It’s one gear in the machine
Of a deus ex machina.

The next is a shield
Which stands to protect;
Another whirring gadget
In the piston of a will.

An infinite of a thought,
A receptor of a scent,
Some things we’d do without,
Others we must own up to.

The petrified ebony carries with it
Charred remnants of trees that
Used to stand here,
In these plains of flat remains.

Machined cherry black wood
Riveted to pistons,
Are tooled and forged
And made.

The backbone of the ebony
Is made of its burned enemies,
Steeled and shelled
And strong.

There’s a helm atop the chariot,
Constructed of some merry acts.
The siege began when
Our machines appeared.

The captain, not a king
Wouldn’t sink with the wind,
And led his guardians
To defend;

Defending against the cannons
In the cherry wood ebony
Deus ex machina machine;
We’ll be led to the next endings.

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