Poem ~ The Waiting Machine


he's grown crooked, but he's going to wait
his fingers are twisted and out of place
his toes are curled, his knees won't bend
his eyes fogged over, he's near the end

but he's going to wait in a middle place
to change the future and insure his fate

he's going to wait, the crooked way
he's paid the alchemist to save his place
he'll be suspended and in between
frozen deep in the waiting machine

~ Elizabeth Anne Ives
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