Shiny metal, flawless finish,

is moved

along its production line,

mirroring the faces of 

men and women

pleased with progress

and a pay cheque

to provide for their



Packed in safety, protection

paramount as It is 

ported away to prove Its worth,

passing men and women

overalled and busy in the

cavernous warehouses.


Awaiting collection, awaiting 

transport to meet the ones

who have paid a king’s ransom,

to own It, operate It and

see their powerful faces 

reflected in It.


At last, primed and 

prepared, It flies high

dazzling in the blue sky,

and with eagle eyes,

picks out the sites where,

innocent children 

play in the ruins

of their lives. 


Rescuers roughly rummaging

through the rubble and flesh

and bones, see a shard of 

glowing metal 

mirroring the dulled, 

staring eyes

of a child,

curly haired

and cherubic,

cold as ice. 

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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