The old pendulum

  needs a bit of oil to stop

  the creaking it belches

  when it swings left and

  right.

  Tired gears, built

  long ago,

  not to last

  grind against each other

  like a dam that pushes away

  the rapids.

  And the people below stand

  at the foot of the water

  without a care in the world to

  watch

  and take their little pictures

  they'll forget about the next

  day,

  trying to convince themselves its

  for a photo album

  they'll never make.

  The memories right in

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  front of them

  slip from their grasp

  like the drizzle of all that

  water the dam misses.

  But, it's just a drizzle,

  so the tourists don't budge.

  These days, the guests

  all have smartphones that count

  nanoseconds, and

  expensive watches built under

  roofs where living humans work

  as automatons.

  There's no heart to their craft.

  And nobody looks at the time

  these days anyway.

  They have plenty to spare.

  They buy watches for the

  aesthetic.

  They hauled the clock from

  grandpa's grave house

  to replace an old vase that

  nobody remembers getting

  and nobody wants.

  The gears grind grit between

  rusted teeth

  powered by a tired swing

  coated in rust

  conceived to last forever

  yet build for ruin

  but a short while later

  when everybody forgets

  to check the time.

  They'll buy another clock anyways