a thirty foot tower
of steel and cables
a walking machine
if you will
not of these ages

the pages of h.g wells
i think not
but a dream of scapes
and other
what not

a ladder
rises to the shop
above all the trees
and the roof tops

a control room of sorts
as dark as the night itself
with a single red glow
burning a light
not quite enough
to show in the night

the movement
of this enormous machine
a feat or magic
remains to be seen

known in this world
as a flesh eating beast
its looking for you
it seeks your heat

deep in your mind
when you think your asleep
the beast comes alive
and it starts to creep

its unlocking doors
that you otherwise keep
closed all the time
with but one key

thoughts are released
without knowing where from
except from deep
in the vortex
of the cerebellum

the machine unleashes
a terrible wrath
leaves nothing but destruction
in it's path

you think for a moment
your back wide awake
till you feel
the ground beneath you
shake

the beast is coming
it wants to eat
it scours the land
for living meat

your mind it stirs
once again
the beast is quiet
as if to pretend

thats when you know
it's time to run
begging and pleading
for the sun

for in the light
the beast stands still
or is it your mind
regaining it's will