Halls of the Dark Muse

Mechanical Angel

She stood with mechanical wings
rusting obliviously in the rain
a face twisted in pain
crude tears stain her
automatic face

Joints stiffening
her nuts and bolts no longer move
creaking ungracefully
tarnished and forgotten

Poor constructed angel
her mechanisms disjointed
gears and cogs whine
and squeak with no mercy

Left cold, unfeeling
but far away camera eyes
look on longingly

Now and then one might
imagine they hear a fleeting
sigh, perhaps only the
wind whistling through
eroding metal.