Gears of the Time Machine
Relentless turning, grinding, bellowing wheel
spokes of steel enforced
turning slowly, into dust,
motes of sand enhanced time fragments.
Never gaining momentum, ticking
in regular bits
clock of extraordinary measures
spiraling into space horizons.
Glimpses through the continuum,
reveal spacious real sites of note,
never a moment lost or misplaced,
only the relentless quantity.
Beware of tocking space wheels turning
consuming the now
eclipsing the daylight time
into voids of dark mysteries, unknown.
Writing by Regina Stemberger