Rotations

Rotations

Slowly but surely 

They were all

Driven crazy 

By the sound 

Of the grinding

Some claimed 

Not to hear it

Others just ate

Few thought to face it

Most played games

Deep in their eyes

They had 

To reconcile

Their lives 

To the sound of the grinding

The distant screams

And eight billion 

Dreams

Fed into 

A precision machine

Trees, plants, 

Grandmothers

Birds, insects, lovers

Villages with traditions

Cultures and accumulated wisdom

All unsorted 

Not even folded

Keeping frequencies 

Humming

And stars at a distance