Sparx-1

Oh, lamentable state, Unspeakable woe, For all upon this orb doth writhe! In madness or misery, Either way holdeth so, A cornucopia of wailing doth contrive! So how many threads in the fabric of time Art woven for the suffering of this weary soul of mine? And 'tis more, the force to drive this doom, Indeed its face doth hide! Yet of its parents I do know, But not its dreadful name, For permanence a golden ring hath slipped, Onto the withered hand of pain. So here I sit, my mind unstill, And all in silence, suffer I will, For time will keep this pain in store, Until the day I am no more.

The cogwheel keeps turning, over and over, the cogwheel that keeps the green bloodstream flowing. The cogwheel powered by the very thing it creates, turned around and around by us all. As we turn this cogwheel, we see it's mechanics. We move the gears that move the spears that stab us in our hearts like clockwork. With each turn of the wheel the blades go in and out, taking a piece of us with it each time it stabs. Before long nothing is left of us but the hand that turns the wheel, and when that is gone, we are useless. Just a shell of what we were. All we can do is just wait until we fade away, watching the new ones turn the cogwheel where