Chain coiled snakelike ,
now rusting remnant,
heavy and dust brown carpet,
Light fallen shadow brightness as fingers unclenched,
Illusion of clarity as focus tenses,
Industrial presence now industrial ghosts,
walk booted dockside granite grey,
Wind moans ghostly,
as day fades slowly,
The face in the mirror looks back blankly at me,
questioning eyes scan my eyes and both pairs look confused.
In the wind is an answer,
swirling as it jumbles its words,
looking for an alternative narrative.
We are the fallen, the lost and forgotten.
In our silence lie questions unanswered, unheard.
This day of cobwebs and broomsticks ,
pumpkin faces and ghostly embraces.