that is all, a poem by planet p

Disclaimer I don't own The Drone of the World or any of its characters.

i.

twinkling, twisting: stillness inside, stillness out

glinting off water, glancing off stone

so very still

quick, like the whip

still, but moving even then

blinding white, abrasive, scouring, cleansing light

ii.

to walk, I walk, I go

alone

houses, shops, glass fronts, dusty and not

pass me by

I pass them by, in turn

no glances shared

we do not look at one another

though we know

yes

we know each other

I go

alone

I walk on

lonely sound: my footsteps make

but I am not so lonely

not here

iii.

it is inside

inside of me, the problem

did it start within? or come from out? without?

i have no answer

to this riddle

do you know?

i could stop

and peer into a dusty window

looking for an answer

but you would not reply

I would not reply

watching myself, my own eyes

watching themselves

in the glass and dust

i would still

have no answer

iv.

this thing is broken;

if not broken, damaged

too badly to mend, to fix up again

it is without purpose now;

no, that isn't true

is it?

it is... useful for nothing, but not...

not just yet

nothing

it exists

it is

its purpose

is merely to exist

presuming it has a purpose

or knows it has

should have-

it is me:

broken, unable to move on, to go back, to function as instructed, as laid out in the instructions for life

am I alive?

but, of course

of course I am

alive

but what else?

that is all.

that is all.