Early Morning Oxidation - 2012/02/12

In the foggy memory of the early morning
A great black plume rises from wreckage
Silence reigned respectfully by an edict
That this is the end of a mechanical age

Broken and battered the bodies lay about
Goggles and helmets nowhere to be counted
A bit of death has settled in this place
For the supremacy of man has been routed

For hours then days then into many weeks
No passerby arrived to examine the source
For the strong standing pitch black plume
Told a tale they wished to know of course

Was this a race a battle or a bit of both
The corpses rotting in the sun are silent
Unwilling to reveal if their sudden death
Was the product of an unexpected violence

What tales will spread in the era to come
To explain this unexplained dead artifact
Can the few minds fostering keen interest
Seperate out the falsehoods from the fact

None of this matters as the fire crackles
Spawning a scarring stench now in the air
Yet it cannot prevent debates years later
In which we argue that should we not care

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