Clockworks
The cogs are spinning, one in another
Teeth are breaking, well-worn and aged
A cog misplaced spells malfunction
The machine
Clockworks ticking as we march
A band suggests our tempo
Our feet tap the rhythm
The brass is chipping
The copper is stretching
The iron pocked and rusting
Only the face remains untarnished
No longer safe under glass
Filed under: Poetic Tagged: fitting in, gears, influence, protection, relationships, society
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