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like clockwork
we're nothing but daydream machines pull the plug, send us to sleep
In the depths of hell    "Pain is simply a process of learning"
Pittsburgh Pa    I write stories and poems, some are dark, some are depressing, some you may like, most you'll probably hate. Im obsessed with art and music, ...


Zero the Lyric Feb 2013
Galaxies, solar satellites, the very Earth and its plates.
Whatever matter spins the reality, each one rotates.
Every unique universe growing its own ebb and flow,
Same as an ocean shall pummel shores then pull undertow.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Backwater cementing a new variant of tributary,
Friends become fish in this river of machinery.
The roiling rubber current proves to combust with currency.
Success succumbs to numbers as the economist counts me.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Gingko trees employed rats until society's reaction
Assimilated this lineage and reset its traction.
A different dispersal mechanism does not merit lament,
The managed are mute within the worker's woeful testament.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Sometimes a quest of faith begets a set from a cartomancer,
What good would it do to bribe the tarot and fake her answer?
For doctrine to deprive a man of god's hero in himself,
To trial and tribute his death to ascend on our caste shelf.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Your cards at hand, as is any fact of fortune, are from you.
All around are landmarks to map your light, vibration, and hue.
A presence is an action amongst quintessential stage props,
Weathered roles rehearse their sonorous loves watching ripples drop.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Turbid fury has no footholds on the great movement in your mind,
Gears that we hear were once a pursuit to prosper as mankind.
To disarm the victim's rights and loosen all nooses may seem odd,
Yet Devil deviates design and is forgiven by God.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Cities yearn to scrape skies built on products at the world's splendor.
Though trinkets become trite as we glorify a greedy vendor.
How could one commend such a clear farce for the multitude?
Selling milk to children's bones while our livestock store false fortitude.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Lifespans expand within this ****** twilight of barbarism.
History obscures so we light turned pages with euphemism.
Often forgotten is that our memory is amorphous,
Generating our boldest fears and cheers to those beyond us.
When its the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Pessimism or optimism; are not rivals of ones structure
Secular submission denies despair's innate rupture
It is built by the hopeful to share love after given grace
To construct a profound unity above pride's titled race
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

We are taught to worry for unruly folk until weary.
Doctors like leaders treat symptoms not seeing sickness clearly.
They stress the distressed to disseminate imminent spines,
Shattering that last vestige of a will searching between lines.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

The commandments should have demanded there always be one more,
As truth evolves in jollies or follies, being rich or poor.
Always a witness to your lemons that could squeeze a profit.
Limits can be more than second hands surpassing the minute.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Thus old cogs and smog of our familiar faculties rest
On the zealous peals of those who know at the hour of our best.
It is not easy to lift volition past sadness so steep.
As each day would raise a mile, we may grow to smile when we sleep
Now is the time, are you a counter or clockwise?
N E Waters May 2013
my clockwork's not quite working right, but it's too late to fix me
they can't see breaking from the outside, they only see I'm living.

Moments; twitches,
they told me I must be careful not to rip my stitches.
Not yet turned to rust inside---
I've been waiting for the moment---
to join the glorified
the few
the beautiful
the delicate souls who cry like mine
those so filled up with life they died;
too attached to the delicate sway of life to live
to connected to the pulse of earth to give and walk about on

two feet, called bipedal motion, supposedly coming about as our ancestors moved from arborreal terrain to grasslands, some millions of years ago...

Science disects the tangible, but we've yet to find diamonds in our eyes that might cut what we cannot hold.
And so we'll never understand our souls.
If it has no bones can it break?
can it shatter if you shake
it too hard, will it fall off of its shelf?
Is our soul collective, or only in the self.

it's clockwork, pure clockwork
we're wound up and allowed to wind down
understanding that gears might fracture
give out
go backwards
then perhaps even forwards again
how tightly are you wound?
or lubricated, my friend?

could you use a helping hand? a smack to get you going
the question's not where
nor when
nor how
nor apparently even... whether our insides are showing.

Break me down like clockwork,
take me to a shop but
they'll only shake their heads and tell you
this models got no replacement parts
best throw it away
get a new one

but I can't.
This ticker's all I've got.
it can't go backwards sideways or in circles
but time
and I'll work it until I drop