Rusted

Cog
by cog
the mechanisms had
seized up.
Over those last,
long, seven years.

Oil,
that once kept the motion fluid,
had turned.
And started to corrode,
where it used to keep things moving.

Gears which had, for a time

interlocked

and clicked,

rhythmically,

as they turned

Now gritted against each other.
Like the teeth of a restless sleeper.
Everything was slowly grinding to a halt
No peaceful cessation,
Or structured wind down.

But the creaks,
and groans
of fatigued structures.
Ready to give up
the ghost.

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