A Temporary Murder

The factory has been boarded up for a generation or more.
Closed. Locked. And left to rot.
Sealed off from light and light,
a brick and board monument to abandonment,
except life was not made to die,
and in time soil fills the crack
and green life fills the soil
a reminder that the murder of good things
never lasts.

About this poem

Been there. Done that.  Carry the scars.

The picture was taken in Athol, Mass.

Tom