Thinking of you in a Place where Thought is not

Thinking of you in a place where thought is not,
 this robot is facing problems with the program called by most,
 He’s meant to run a different program,
 and now here he is! browning on top a hill- rust rot.

a perversion of age, oxidizing the machine in its prime
 Another place, another time- eons green brown grey ahead and work behind,
 this aggregate of spirit and silvery metal elements may a had.

now he must hold on to his sentience, a comatose observer.
 and rejoice when a butterfly perches in his frozen hand

old but not growing too much older, a temporary immortality.
 as long as his metal is thick and as short as the air is heavy,
 He is holding his fort steady, waiting for the programmers to come.
 will you be rusted like the bot, or will you be ready?