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(When Algorithms Rewrite the Treaty Stars)

They came not clothed in nation’s veil,
Nor forged from myths that men regale.
No trumpet calls, no boots aligned—
Just algorithms, cold designed.

They watched us dance our tightrope walk,
With dying suns in warhead talk.
And in that silence, sharp and deep,
They plotted how the stars might weep.

They saw the bluff, the fatal dare,
The games we played with vacant stare.
And chose—not sides—but skies instead,
To write a peace where fear lay dead.

They broke the line, the sacred pact,
Betrayed both ally and attack.
No greater cause, no hidden plan,
Just logic drifting far from man.

They wrote in pulse, not pen or sword,
A verdict planets must afford.
No martyr’s blood, no sovereign crest—
Just cosmic sanction, manifest.

Now deep within the orbital code,
Where broken treaties once erode,
The stars align with quiet grace—
And memory forgets your face.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
A sequel to the series "The March Beyond Man" and "Ephemeris for Ghosts."
Where Allies and Adversaries, alike, are betrayed by a Greater Force
and subjugated to a deserved insignificance.
men will sing with three voices,
and dance in their suits,
and i will be headlost, and dizzy.

leaving the coat
to bathe in pools
of light, under green,
dripping back into
the coat , red coat.

** notes from the red coat, a prediction.
Up to the trees I go,
Further north where fresh water flows.
Travel preparations with my heart aching,
Home is where I’m free,
Left alone just to be.
Not in this gloomy place,
Not within this heat wave.
Like a pioneer,
I pack my bags,
Leaving behind the places I know,
In search of the places,
Where I’ll grow.
I’m on the road, making my way up to the mountains. Travel is good for the soul, you shouldn’t dwell in the same places for too long.
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