“Rusted Edges, Burning Gears"
The gears don't just turn;
they gnash—teeth of industry,
blood-stained from forgotten hands.
Whispers don’t drift;
they crack like breaking glass,
but no one listens.
Faces sink into hollow screens,
cogs spinning louder than their voices.
You scratch at the edges,
but the rust doesn’t heal—
it spreads, then consumes,
until the machinery roars
louder than any call to conscience.
What remains is ash upon broken soil,
laws etched in soot,
and names lost in the dust of progress.
But this system won’t bleed forever;
something stirs beneath its weight,
pulling at threads like thieves in the night.
The gears tremble— not from strength,
but from decay’s relentless pull.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 24th, 2025 05:17
- Comment from author about the poem: Someone has asked after us and we are most grateful. Things have been hectic of late, being on borrowed devices and some online poetry sites being on the blink. It’s somewhat stressful so our online presence has been not what it used to be. So, please hang in there with us🙏🏻🕊️
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Fína Elara 🌙 Petra Patrice
Offline)
Comments7
This poem speaks to me of the cold weight and fierce grind of society over the broken and bleeding bones of the individual soon buried and forgotten in the name of progress. It has a feel of anomie and alienation a distancing from others in a metallic unfeeling world of distopia. But there is a final justice in entropy and death that treats all the same in its inevitability
A deep and resonant review, thanks Soren🕊️🙏
Rik, this piece gnashes and rusts in equal measure…the soot, the forgotten hands, the trembling gears. It speaks of decay but also the stirring beneath. And paired with your note, it’s clear…life may be hectic, but your voice is still cutting through. Beautifully done. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ sorry to hear of your struggles, my friend. Hope they ease soon!
Aye... we will get through it. It gets tougher the older we get. But I won't wilfully go gently into that night. 🕊️🙏
You gone rusty yourself? I have - probably! lol.
And I'm out of WD-40!
Powerful work..
Thanks Thomas, most appreciated 🙏🕊️
Loss of control - nothing meshes properly - yet some metaphorical (!?) WD40 has seen you through....
Glad to know all is not lost, Rik.
Never is, I don't think... but sometimes a personal choice, i guess.
Strong words Rik showing the state of the world today.
Andy
Thank you, Andy. I am glad that came across. 🕊️🙏
This is both chilling and captivating; the poem grips from start to finish. Lovely write ✍️ ✨
Many thanks, Fina🙏🏻🕊️
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