The Highway

The skeleton of this building remains

Its windows only shards of broken glass

By the old factory still run the trains

Along the tracks, desertion as they pass

The tattered frame of what was once a town

The blast of fumes exhaled by the highway

The tired metal abused and run down

With century old bridges giving way

Passing pockets left of a rural wood

Now forsaken… tree branches wave down cars.

I hear a cry where once the mighty stood

Then solemn and covered with brighter stars.