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Sand Machine
copyright October 1, 2007, Roy Stucky

The camera cannot capture
Everything it sees.
Dimensions are discarded
Like legs below the knees.

An email doesn't meet my eye.
Text provides no hugs.
The human touch can reach much more
Than hedonistic drugs.

The beat of dehumanization
Is deafening those who can hear.
A splintered vicarious nation
Means help isn't anywhere near.
Prison walls weren't hard enough
To hold our souls between.
But now we strip so we can fit
Inside the sand machine.

The veils of existence are layered -
The heart lies much deeper within.
If faces are thick with disguises
An avatar icon is thin.

The beat of dehumanization
Is playing its leitmotiv chord.
A splintered vicarious nation
Forgets we were made like the Lord.
Prison walls weren't hard enough
To hold our souls between.
But now we strip so we can fit
Inside the sand machine.

Forbidden fruits
Are misplaced troops
Who can't repel attacks along the front.
The sharpened blade
Persuades
That power's edge is hard to blunt.
Steel repeats
Its drumbeat
Like tribal elders calling forth a hunt.

The beat of dehumanization
Is breaking the drums of the ears.
A splintered vicarious nation
Feeds in the dark on its fears.
Prison walls weren't hard enough
To hold our souls between.
But now we strip so we can fit
Inside the sand machine.