Clockwork Messiah

Like a hawk, I watch

levels of city dwellers

spin gears of the urban clock

winding through alleys

in minute rhythm. 

Beaten by routine, 

soles wearing thin 

on cracked pavement, 

glazed eyes glimpse skyward. 

I want to reach down

and pluck them free,

but cold hands

and ticking feet

evade my touch. 

I cannot save them

from themselves.