Chapter VIII: Human

A thousand people,
Always silent,
Looking with clockwork glances,
Moving with robotic stances.

Faces hidden with venecian masks,
Sheepish wolves and still dancers,
With silent singers that's music still lingers, 
'We are human,' they remark.

Yet they move in ghostly fashions,
Static gestures, dying movements,
Their faces fixed with one emotion,
Feeling nothing. Saying nothing.

Footsteps heard on concrete floors,
Mirroring the ticking of a thirteenth hour,
Glassy eyes and crystal hearts lay beneath their fragile forms,
'We are human,' they remark.

Their masks do crack, under times spell,
Cowering under his scythe,
Their cogs, they stop,
Winding down ever faster.

Their glassy eyes,
Fragile forms,
And crystal hearts,
'We are human,' they remarked.

Now the only thing upon this Earth,
Is a dying army of clockwork men,
Their faces frozen in sadness,
Wearing masks, cracked under time.

'We are human.' Was their last remark.

The End

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