Gears

We may be flawed, but our enduring spirit defines us and keeps our gears turning like chaotic clockwork. And if we were ever to drown in our own darkness, somehow the spark within us would live on.

 In our living, riled engine,

Something combusted, and blew apart

We were always broken but still marched on

Glowing with billions of beating hearts

 

If every human voice drowned out forever

Melting in the clamor of incessant war machines

We’d be clinging to a cliff and shouting never

A persistent spirit that will never die

 

If every body lay still forever

Clamped in the jaws of our own cruel traps

If very thinker paused forever

Only our vessels would take a nap.

 

Frozen in the core of an oily labyrinth

Chains lie still like ashen roots

Abundant rust tells many stories

Of children, of music, of army boots

 

Gears, turning on and on

We’re bolted together, defective, alive

In this mess of cogs called humanity

No matter what we’re connected here.

We construct bright wonders and strive for peace

Yet at the same time destroy what we have built

Grinding pistons and agile hands

Alternating joy and guilt.

 

An original machine, shattered and flawed

But one thing that will never let go

Is the spark within us, winged and clawed

And whatever pursues us will have to know.

 

The End

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