we are clockwork creatures  
with phantasmagoric features  
precisely ground and divinely wound,  
we measured movements, prosaic and sublime
our cogged kingdom, cherished chunks of time  
our ticking, a marching machination
our faces, a reflection of the lost
a prediction of the found
we now make simpering sounds
on our path to rust
made obsolete by the silicon effete,
the cyber elite,  that-which-who
never succumb to rust, or join us
in our reverent return
to dust