Are we gears in the machine,

Or a product of our greed?

We set our traps for other's feet,

Enticing their eyes with what they "need".  

But as we pass by in the mirror,

We can all too clearly see,

A momentary glimpse,

Of who we chose to be.

And in that simple glance,

In the honest, reflective glass,

We see a stranger so familiar,

We can only stare and gasp.

We've led ourselves to believe,

Our last glance won't be too late.

That we'll escape the monster,

In the mirror we've grown to hate. 

But if we are the gears, then we well know our fate.

To turn and rust, to rust and break,

Then come to a sudden halt.

And in the silence of our broken state,

We'll swear we're not at fault.  

Or if we are the product, formed in man's selfish hands,

We're no better off, for we'll be shipped to distant lands.

And before we begin to fade or rust, or eventually grow old,

We'll realize the batteries were not included,

And neither was a soul.  

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Author guidance for This poem

A recent piece written while reflecting on several lonely nights.

These lyrics are meant to be a bit raw and slightly rough around the edges, so the flow shouldn't be exact.

If it helps, imagine that it sounds like an acoustic Manchester Orchestra, Brand New, or The Felix Culpa. If you don't know any of those bands, look them up and enjoy.

updated Dec 7 '10 by someshadeofblue