southeastern apocalypse (wheelhouse challenge) By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
grass grows through the cracks in the asphalt
of what was once glass avenue.
flashesof grayed sunlight reveal blasted facades
offeringa peek through the gauzy veil of
years both distant and near.
woe be unto those whose days are spent
looking backward, for the past holds naught but
the pail glimmer of those lost
to all but thought
shades and spirits haunt this place
the river rages unabated over the locks of TVA;
a reminder of the follies of these grand designs
there is no power here.
gone are your craft beers and artisan pickles and
small plate miracles filled with
foraged mushrooms and
duck confit.
gone are your bike trails and long hikes and
nature walks
down around the pot, the pan and the handle.
appalachia has fallen.
the last stand lasted sixty seconds;
a minute too long.
grass grows through the cracks in the asphalt
of what was once glass avenue.
flashesof grayed sunlight reveal blasted facades
offeringa peek through the gauzy veil of
years both distant and near.
woe be unto those whose days are spent
looking backward, for the past holds naught but
the pail glimmer of those lost
to all but thought
shades and spirits haunt this place
the river rages unabated over the locks of TVA;
a reminder of the follies of these grand designs
there is no power here.
gone are your craft beers and artisan pickles and
small plate miracles filled with
foraged mushrooms and
duck confit.
gone are your bike trails and long hikes and
nature walks
down around the pot, the pan and the handle.
appalachia has fallen.
the last stand lasted sixty seconds;
a minute too long.
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