Doomed
The writing on the wall
Cannot be scrubbed away
Or painted over.
It is burned into the surface.

Doomed
The carefully wound clock
Has lost it’s main spring
And the hands no longer move,
Though the alarm still rings.

Doomed
The rising of the tide
Eats steadily at
The edges of the castle
So skillfully constructed.

Doomed
The wind has changed direction
And the breeze become a gale.
The aging oak tree
Lacks to roots to save it.

Doomed
The fragile flower’s beauty
Is no match for the equipment
Paving over gardens built
For other times and people.
                   ljm