Industrial Strength Hope

The many came and worked no end of days
That nonetheless, somehow, came to an end;
The titans of that industry gave way:
No longer did the locals care to spend

The extra change it cost to bear the weight.
And so these doors closed up some time ago,
No foreman on the floor, no guard at gate,
The theater of what’s no longer so.

I walk the dusty floors, the empty stage,
Amid the ghosts of faded nevermore;
A closet with a light from cracks above –
A hint of green that shoots up through the floor –

For hope may spring where least we thought it could;
And emptiness can sometimes spawn what’s good

Author: Sibelius Russell

Sibelius Russell (a/k/a/ Owen "Beleaguered" Servant) lives a life of whimsical servitude -- whatever that means.

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