Abandoned places in the night.
There’s nothing I love better:
The dismal gray-black sky above
The cold, oppressive weather –
The trains, they left here years ago
Their voices long since died;
But here, amidst their ghosts, I am –
And it’s
My kind
Of ride
The muddy snow that leaks into the streets
And chilly wind that whips into the face
Are all I have as company right now
As I come to this old forgotten place
I do not know what once it might have been;
Not why, nor when ’twas built, nor yet by whom —
I only know it now, in this estate,
A broken-down, and frigid sort of tomb
That only has two walls left of its four,
Immodestly exposing its backside
Like it was clad in a hospital gown,
To drain the last few drops of long-dead pride
Now so few left who knew it, when, in fact
It still had all its dignity
Intact
I do not stand in judgment, friends;
I merely say what I have seen —
But nonetheless, I must remark
That is one ugly
Green
He still recalls when this was new.
And though you won’t believe it:
This was to him a magic place.
Now he can’t even
Conceive it
The wind is whistling through the panes –
Some missing and some broken –
This empty place, it speaks to me,
Although no words are spoken
The long-passed men who built these towers —
One brick, and one metal —
They’ve joined the nearby river, where
The silt of time will settle
This cold and empty factory
Once gave the river cargo:
But now, that sweat, those men of old,
They’ve all passed on
To shadow
