Poetry

Synaptic Cold Start (#1924)

Rusted cylinders fall into place,
Slowly I return to the right headspace,

Gears long stationary squeak and grind,
Embers of motivation fill my mind,

Dusty chains creak and turn,
The need for action is starting to burn,

Conveyor belts jerk into reluctant being,
The pathway ahead I’m quickly seeing,

Hydraulics flood, circulate and pump,
It feels as if it’s time to make the jump,

Any Thoughts?

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