• 1
• 0
• • Diamond Log
  • Embed
  • Report

The solitary ambiance of your grave.
Your wheels and cogs and shattered glass.
Expressions from your twisted past.

Your hushed voice crying out
Tears of joy spitting out.
Broken barb wire and forbidden signs.

What civilization went ahead on
All its onward-impelling implements.
Of remarkable items left to rust.

Your scrapped motorbikes and metal stumps.
Your engines and gas tanks, snapped pipes too.
All left for the ludicrous gust of flames.

Splattered blood and gruesome scenes.
Stainless graffiti and awesome TV.
Candy bar wrappers and triumphant ends.

If you hear me,
I am walking through the tree-line.
I'm leaving the junkyard behind.

I will tell you a place where there is no rust.
A place where everyday
Is clear of dust.