Cogs

The gears turn

To ensure that the machine runs

Each gear fulfills it's role

And, when it's moment arrives, it silently 

Rusts off, only to be replaced soon there after

If the situation is fitting

A spot is reserved for the gear

And then, with repetition 

It spins in an endless cycle of production

They are manufactured

Then placed in the machine

By a man, unrecognizable,

But terrible

A gear rarely doesn't fit

And if one happens to not

The man

With no consideration

Simply throws it away

Not realizing 

That sometimes the trash

Is better than the machine

Author's Note

I usually don't write poems, but I gave this one a go so tell me what you think if you want.

Reviews

[Rosalina Pauk]

I really love it! It's really interesting to think about, I love your pacing and how clearly you tell us a story! It also ends on a melancholy note, I'm not sure which is more tragic, the cog that didn't fit or the cogs tirelessly working in the clock, and I imagine the answer is different for each reader, which is wonderful! Great job!