"Status?!," I commanded and barked at myself, my humble lackey.
"We have virtually depleated the resources available to us here,
and the army soon will march against this place,"
(yes, that would be: I told me........)
It's eyes glared, a flash of brilliance across the spectrum
(It, because that which was once I has reverted to it's most basic form,
the automaton, programed to survive)
"Of course, safe haven has been acquired," It tells me.
I am confused, bewildered, because this thing is planning my life,
telling me the moves to make,
and I recognize the voice, drifting out of my dreams,
lurking behind these eyes, whispering in these moments,
and leading me, but always at the end,
reminding me the Church is dead, and I can never go home.
The fist clenches, chrome skin and iron claws,
on a certain level, it can influence the flow of time and space,
contolling how fast It gets to the future,
but always returning to the same point in the past
the begining, when there is nothing left to alter,
because it hasn't started yet,
but trapped for all eternity in the realized world,
waiting for the precise moment to interfere,
to make the one change It's waited the eternity for,
only to arrive at the end, discover it is the begining,
and try to change history again.
It's my sun, but it rises over red sands, under a dome of crystal