Desolate

The faceless grey and the blurry lights cut their own tale.

As my nose presses gently against the foggy glass, it all comes back again.

I am reminded of what was once before.

Its ghost rumbling, convulsing the innards.

The whirring of tools, the revving of engines, the roaring of turbofans.

The multitudes seen everywhere, the restive dust that gilds the hazy lights.

So far, and yet so near.

All a canvas, bringing to life the colours of thought.

What lay dormant, but never truly discarded.

The glorious days come racing back.

When all were happy.

When joy resonated through the streets.

When families drowned in great bliss.

When children were promised the future.

When straight lay the way of the starry heights.

Nothing left untouched.

An eternal spring.

But what I see dolefully, right there before me.

Gutted and greying hulks, wearing away.

Alone, abandoned.

Symbols of a bygone era.

An array of despair.

A manifestation of so many hopes and dreams.

Now all crushed and burnt out.

Like an unforeseen wildfire mercilessly devouring a forest.

But all was not lost.

Remnants of the great theme remained.

Reverberating down to the present.

Keeping alive the lantern’s embrace.

In the wake of destruction, a beat prevailed.

A bud of resilience, blossoming.

But the marring remains.

The worn hulks sit idly by.

Alone, unwanted.

Bringing forth the shackles of remembrance.

Traces of the disaster scar the landscape.

Will we ever truly forget?