Gears
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.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Gears, which
was posted on May 29, 2010 by
RachaelRunes.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"We may be flawed, but our enduring spirit defines us and keeps our gears turning..."
This poem is filed under:
Imagery, Philosophy / Moral, Religion / Spirituality
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