The Abandoned Warehouse
the rusty tap capitulates this scene,
the brown murky residue bulges in saturation.
the amber coloured Victorian paint peeling like an old rotten corpse,
leaving the imagination in a bewildering photographic shock.
Tiny puddles scattered like rabbit holes,
gently ripple with each drop that falls from it's dilapidated exterior
Skeletons of iron-cast machinery, lay like artefacts of hazardous condemnation.
Its hollow lung, laid dormant yet still breathing,
in need of repairing or deleting
the vegetation entwined within the rusted girders in a subtle suffocation,
programmed in a arrogant nature.
The wind rattles this building as the currents embrace this peculiar structural arrangement
and dance around this monument of time, this museum of solemn captivation.
The lonely ominous building sits in bold servitude to a dead era,
and seldom seen it quietly assumes it's place.
Copyright © Paul K K