the cadence of beating hearts,
the click of its moving parts
grows louder and louder
from this restless earth...
future gardens wait patiently below
and somehow we smell them blossom
through the snow.
still unsatisfied,
we chase what we're denied.
as generations wait,
we can't resist the taste of possibility.
gears turn, endlessly,
to bring us back to life again.
like clockwork, we begin.
