The Machine. A play with words.

RED.
I don't know what I'm doing.
Either I'm screwing with fate or god.
My life is a fog mirror and I'm late to see clearer.
My reflection streaks.
Am I at resurrections peak?
If I fall down should I be afraid of the smokey haze?
If I bow down could I see the way of the "okay" phase?
The paths we take.
The past is fake.
This is a P.S.A
I can see the colors moving, soothing my soul. Paying the toll. Looting the troll. Immersed in the cold.
I will feel the root uprising and sing for uncertainty.
If today is the past I will roll with the thunder.
If tomorrows the future I will let my eyes wander.
Clarity. That's all I need.
Its the charity that makes me bleed.
Why god?
And I started to pray.
I asked for a wish. To know what was true.
To not be someone with a gun or be like gum on someone Else's shoes.
He asked if I wondered and I said that I do.
He asked if I wandered and I said I do too.
He asked if I knew him and I said nothing.
I waited for him to say something else while I waited he put my mind on a shelf. One thousand years later. He said to my thoughts. One thousand years later and you'll learn what you want.
So I waited while my muscles burned.
I was fated to take a turn.
I yearned and I earned my place.
I kept to myself and my so called fate.
As I waited I learned how to bring light to my chest and swords to my back. I learned to love unknowingly of the tacks that I'd tread. I learned to forget and how to turn back time. To this day that is my greatest crime.
The end of the world is the cake I'll partake in.
Because this thousand year fate is one year late and I make my own fate I take in.
With words. How can you counter.

BLACK
I am unimportant and I will not be used.
Neither will you.
Poetry.
Its new to me.
I think. I write. I ponder.
I plan. I act. I do.
Do not misconstrue me. My color is true.
Black is all. Blue is nothing.
Come back to me or at least say something.

BLUE.
I am the blue traveler. Much inferred. If you asked my dreamer I'm much preferred. I have a tongue for a shield and hands made of light. While I am typing I always do things right. I make hard passes, hard things I must do.. Black I will learn, I call upon you.

BLACK>
.
.
.
BLACK CAN NOT BE CONTACTED AT THIS TIME.
I'M VERY SORRY HIS SOUL IS MINE.
HE DID WHAT HE HAD TO AND THAT IS A FACT
JUST TO PROTECT YOU. what do you say to that?
BLUE<

BLUE;
no words to be said. He raced all these ideas around in his head. He turned to the t.v and it said "pair with red"

This poem is one not about good vs bad but of understanding for things that are much larger than us.
I hope you hate it, or love it, or think you're above it.
Either way its fine.
THIS TIME........................

End. Jacob Parnell.