your forgotten fumes that have seen 

too much 

in its eternity, 

that edge closer and closer to a dark 

neverwhere that i can never reach, 

that reach the stars before i can, 

before i can even manage to think about it, 

a sprinkling of hope that’s damaged 

along with the trees that have seen too much history, 

the ebb and flow of time that never goes unseen 

you talk of wars, of glorious History that spills 

blood and leaves nothing but wreckage behind, 

but 

i talk of you, the sweat and tears that builds and builds 

to make something steady, dependant 

and most of all – 

whole. 

of your face that seems eternal, 

that gazes down for generations to come, 

until someone, 

something 

replaces you 

(nothing is eternal, you know) 

until nothing remains but the wind and the wreckage, 

clouds that store the memories that

escape from your grasp 

and leave you bereft 

Inspired by the artwork, “Hampstead Old Power Station” by Alfred Aaron Wolmark

Image courtesy of Andres Garcia