A lone soldier still stands guard at his post,

waiting for a signal without comprehension

that his war was long ago lost,

but he still stands at attention.

Hundreds of years have elapsed,

but he continues to stand guard.

What he fought for has long since collapsed,

but signs of peace he continues to disregard.

Until his captain releases him of duty,

he will continue to scan the horizon

for signs of destruction amongst beauty

as his spirit continues to wizen.

The flash of a light

flashes in the night,

slicing a beam across

the darkness to reflect

upon a solid wall of steel

resting on pitch black wheels.

An imperfect machine

does what it has to,

nothing more.

An imperfect soul

can hold what is precious,

nothing more.

How much more

before the imperfect machine

starts breaking down?