Friday, July 4, 2008

A Mechalife

Ticking till the batteries run dry,
With arms
Rotating faithfully till it dies,
Whose life is like a clock?

It never misses a single second
For when it does, it shall be discarded.
Whose life hangs
On rigid concrete pillars?

From a burning house,
Nobody saves the servile clock
For there are many to replace it with.

The clock ticks away,
Like a bomb that won't explode,
In the silence of the night it reigns,
Only to be drowned at the break of day.

An essay eluded me tonight, hence, this.