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Oct 16
Abandoned factories reach up to god.
Outside them lay a forest undisturbed,
Choked by smog it struggled still to grow,
Like armies camped around enemy walls,
Waited for the weight of years to fall.
And as I passed within its maze I asked
Out into the silent afternoon:
Who will be the survivor of time,
And which of these soldiers will fall sooner?
How soon will they be then discarded if
A suitable replacement can be found?
If that philosophy stands too for me,
Where, now, is the wood of my coffin?
I only hope its seed is unplanted.
Written by
eva  18/F/london
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