An Abandoned Factory, Detroit
The gates are chained, the barbed-wire fencing stands,
An iron authority against the snow,
And this grey monument to common sense
Resists the weather. Fears of idle hands,
Of protest, men in league, and of the slow
Corrosion of their minds, still charge this fence.
Beyond, through broken windows one can see
Where the great presses paused between their strokes
And thus remain, in air suspended, caught
In the sure margin of eternity.
The cast-iron wheels have stopped; one counts the spokes
Which movement blurred, the struts inertia fought,
And estimates the loss of human power,
Experienced and slow, the loss of years,
The gradual decay of dignity.
Men lived within these foundries, hour by hour;
Nothing they forged outlived the rusted gears
Which might have served to grind their eulogy.
Philip Levine's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (An Abandoned Factory, Detroit by Philip Levine )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Lacertilian Writers, Abdullah alHemaidy
- Painful Throbbing Tides, Michael McParland
- This World, Sandra Feldman
- Prime Truth - 92, Pranab K. Chakraborty
- Gold Star Mother, Charles Hancock
- Oooooohgust, Ferdinand L Quintos
- Prime Truth - 91, Pranab K. Chakraborty
- Your Mind, Nicholas Smith
- No matter- if you, gajanan mishra
- How Long iS yOUr List of Shoulds?, Monk E. Biz