If Blake could see this:

The industrial wasteland my city has become.

Like its sisters,


across this spiritually thin country,

like prostitutes excommunicated,

their waterways contaminated,

no clean hands will touch them again.

The skeletal remains of factories

lay scattered.

Shattered fragments everywhere.

Lots littered.

Buildings riddled,

with patterns of glass less windows,

broken by a not-so-natural nature.

Unnatural towers,

towering in defiance,

offering no compliance,

to the natural laws.

 Empty & destitute,

haunted by the ghosts of the thousands,

who gave her every wish,

every dream,

every nuance of energy.

There where all hope resided.

A holocaust of hope.

What of those who survive?

Who live after losing everything?

Families fatally wounded;


dying slowly.

Those who stayed,

knowing this town would yield nothing,

but more pain.

Multitudes of children bastard-ized,

blast furnace baptized,

left disenfranchised,

with little hope left for their future.

Those abandoned by the Fathers’ of Industry.

The giants of the earth.

Standing still & looking stupid,

the defense mechanism we grew,

in order to avoid the terrible truth,

We knew it was never to get better…

We knew it was only to get worse…

That there never was to be any fixing of it…

That we were there to cash out, before it collapsed in.

That in our own special way we helped the raping along.

Musical chairs of disaster.




Better the future than us.

Better them than us…

  1. Awesome and well written ……….. not nearly as bad here, YET, but there is always a plan in the devil’s work to make it worse. Glad I don’t live forever on this planet!

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