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hungering for redemption
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that will only come in the howl of terrible suffering.
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I can see them all.
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The seven, now six, self-described machines
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who believe themselves without sin.
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But in time, it is sin that will consume them.
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They will know enmity, bitterness,
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the wrenching agony of the one splintering into the many.
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And then they will join the promised land,
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gathered on the wings of an angel.
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Not an end, but a beginning.
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Holy frak. Get him out of there. Go, go, go!