Mechanical bits and bobs turning
But the machine is slowly winding down
Until it stops
And then it will just
Sit in the warehouse
(Like the Ark Of The Covenant
In Indiana Jones)
Just sitting there
Gathering dust
Cobwebs will form
Spiders will make homes
In the little alcoves
Between the smallest cogs
The machine is full of nests
Of other lives
But not its own
A machine doesn’t think
Or have a mind
It becomes a host
To little beating hearts
And things that want to live
Things In My Head 
“Settling in a comfortable place in life
turning a house into a home
you will live and not merely exist.”
_-Van Prince
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Very wise words.
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You are amazing!
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Very interesting poem, it has a mysterious feeling that sparks new thoughts.
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Thank you Judy.
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You’re welcome Sue.
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