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Mar 2015
[Dead. It's all dead.]

The world lies frozen
At our feet.
Rusted monoliths
Stand watch.

The bones lie scattered
In the street.
Wrapped in burnt,
Decaying cloth.

Air echoes with
A deathly peace.
The empty roads
Are long un-crossed.

As we walk on,
Instruments scream:
"There's danger here,
Please don't proceed."

Nothing's here but
These machines,
Screaming signals
To our feeds.

On this harsh day,
Lonely shadows play:
The watermarks
Of a forgotten age.

Glowing decay
And burnt-out plague.
And mysterious vaults
Locked fore'r away.
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