The Industry

The Industrial Fields lie over yonder.
Let's climb up that last stretch of green hill
And then we see it!
Towers of cold metal, belching hot gas.
Towers and towers upon metal and brick
And sad men, the workers, like zombies, dull.

Saw a powder blue car today
Parked by a dry cleaner's;
It was called Old Lady.
I think it was mocking me.

No one loves things that aren't real,
Or things that can not give them satisfaction,
Like the lost child wandering through industrial
Fields,
After a long, lonely war; no food, no love.

The mother and the father are gone, both
Gone,
But the mechanics stay there, to be
Consumed by Apocalyptic fires --
Fires and flames,
Flames and crazy people, and towers of
Metal, in the industrial fields.

The boy holds a hope.
A little boy, with no loved ones,
Wearing an old school uniform - it was
Blasted away with the bombs.

Are the comets scary? Or the result?
No more soft, blue eyes.
No more alpha scent.
The blue is sick and scraped away with the
Fantasy of robots, unfeeling.

The boy falls asleep in the powder blue;
He falls asleep in the powder blue.

They are all gone; only fantasies remain.
In the smoke and the soot and the gears and gravel
And Spirits searching for Purgatory.

Reviews

[Fran Marie]

Sounds rather grim ...a wasteland after war zone..a well penned piece...

[Brette Medb]

This poem reminded me of a mix between a after World War II scene and a Kurt Vonnegut story. The sadness permeates this with frightening clarity and it makes one stop and ponder the world as it could possibly be. Terrific write.


B

[roarke]

Lightening powerful write. Rich in imagery and meaning. Nice touch with the first stanza, setting a stage of sorts. How things are, how they got to be and what's left in the wake. This is a significant work. Bravo.