The whispers of a gramophone
Echoed off the stony quiet.
Lovers and friends would gather
Around that old music maker.
Those people had passed on
To where their journey truly began.
The wild corn yearned to reclaim
What was taken,
Yet the walls refused to bend to the will
Of plant and wind.
We kicked in that rotting door,
Defilling the space with our foul
Breath and being.
It was then that the roof fell in,
The gramophone went silent,
The corn and wind ellated
With joy.
Year:
2017
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