City of the Dead
Twisted concrete forms with rusting spines
Jutting from the crumbling rock
Past industry rubbed raw in 50 years of salty air
Relics painted by the hands of youth
Broken testaments to loved ones lost
Forgotten names stolen by the sea
Life spans swept away in the waves
Now a graveyard to black waterfowl
Feathered necks slither lifeless through the stones
Painful creaking of octogenarians
Submissive to the force of an invisible foe
Where no cypress should be they grow still
Beaten down by relentless wind
Padded paws traipse overgrown steps
Concrete stages set for acts of war
Ghostly hollows of unused cannons
Marching regiments descend into the earth
Reclaimed by gnarled roots and spongy soil
Above murky depths clouds kiss the mount
Dense fog the only shroud for nameless souls
Foreign bones rest obscure beneath 18 holes
Glistening legion of recreation and eternal art
Black grids lead down cream-colored rows
Cultures tucked quietly behind locked gates
Jovial echos of chutes and road houses
Playgrounds drowned by march of days
Outer Lands once sandy bosom of the dead
Undulating dunes leveled and paved
Giving way to Thai Palaces and Golden Rivers
Where cold flesh burned now children swim
Memories fade with withering mourners
Lonely symbol perched in reverence
Tumbling down the quaking slope
Replaced by learning to reign on high
Monuments polished but disguised
The past decays with salt and wind
