There is an old machine,

A massive conveyer belt I think, or at least it was.

It’s rusted and dingy, and it’s parked across the street.

It looks like a dinosaur, with it’s the long neck rising,

It’s massive head protruding from the top.

And nobody notices it there.

They drive past on their way to newer, shinier things.

But I like the dinosaur, heavy, immovable, and left behind.

I am a dinosaur, heavy, immovable, and left behind.

And yet alive. That’s what makes us different.

We, the broken, dingy, people left behind, will rise.

We’ll rise when shiny things are left behind.