by Katie Green
Proud they stood,
Whole and complete,
After years of strain
and
Tireless work.
A beacon of
civilisation,
Throughout the land,
Drawing people to them
like
Moths to a flame.
An age of glory passed,
and
Still they stayed.
Fracked and
weather-beaten,
But still there.
Empty they remained.
Secret.
Abandoned.
Forgotten.
Until the wanderers
came,
Staying for a few
nights, the left.
They must have spoken
of it, for
Soon a steady trickle,
seeking shelter was established.
Time spun on,
Though it was hardly
noticed.
They were now so old,
What was a few more
days, weeks, years?
Still they came,
Filling it's walls with
Talk and laughter once
more,
Flashes as they
captured pieces to take away with them.
Though every nightfall,
As the short,
flickering lives leave,
It is once again alone,
Awaiting the new dawn
and the countless more that will come.
Always empty.
No longer secret.
Sometimes abandoned.
But never forgotten.
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