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