It stopped. Your mahogany façade now encases more than the minute intricacies of time, preserving something besides stale, wooden air. Abiding now is an essence, a moment, an instant that will never ever, reoccur. What ghostly hand grasped your swinging metal heart? Oh towering vision. The cogs that are inside us continue but you are dead. For now. Frozen at 11:09 last Tuesday.