Clockwork Messiah
 
 

I was once unexpectedly honoured by a wonderfully random meeting
with the mechanical king of the Empyrean, to whom I extended my greeting.
his clothes were cut from woven light, his eyes were ruby red,
his long hair trailed behind him, about his haloed head.
I offered him my insane musings on why we came to be,
he shrugged and muttered, "Close enough" then bestowed his Satori.
We discoursed on existentialism and the end of the world in a cataclysm,
then both drank Mingh tea through curly straws as he told me about the holy wars.
I asked him about his best selling novel and how much was inexact,
he told me he used his poetic license, but tried to stick to the facts.
The great automaton explained that his publishers demanded blood,
public executions, and even the occasional flood.
"But the rest, that's all the truth?" I asked in my incredulity,
"But for those days in the desert. I was really in Tahiti."
He taught me that I don't own the thoughts that float inside my head,
they are waves pulled in from the infinite, that I borrow them instead.
He stood to make his exit at this last lesson's conclusion,
he told me more enlightenment could only cause confusion.
And on this note he waved farewell and soon disintegrated,
I stood frozen in awe of him, his sense of all things automated.

(C) Copyright 1998
Nick Kellaway 
All Rights Reserved