That's how

The master knew:
What is empty must be filled.

He soldered an iron heart
and planted the seedling.
It grew from drips of ivy juice
and feasts on human souls.

Eyes pierced by coins.
Ears rotten by words.
No light nor music
can touch them.

A scent like molten metal,
rust
and blood
is everywhere.

If a cog is gone, the next is made.
There are many, but only one.

Every night, they see their master.
He asks them quietly:
Who barked loudest?
Whose teeth touched flesh?

No death, they are beaten.
One, they earn a smile.
Ten, food drops from the table.

That's how these creatures live.
That's how they die.

Original photo by Matt Artz, modified by Ashmore.
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