View-Point

Only the moon sees the smokestacks
from that slant, high above and at an angle,
soot covered bricks in a circle broken
by time and industrial trends.

The whistles and engines complicit
in a conspiracy of rusted silence;
the hulking machines  frozen into stillness.
Eventually blowtorches will reduce them
to their lowest common denominator.

The flame will flare brighter with each cut,
until all has fallen and the fire consumes itself;
that man-made monster no more than memory,
and the moon still smiling high above.

 

 

~~~

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s