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
About this poem
Been there. Done that. Carry the scars.
The picture was taken in Athol, Mass.