M S Latter
Fallen Icons - Poem by M S Latter
Doors swing limply
in the steel breeze.
Beaten and gashed,
shrieking and crying
for their former glory.
A shining mosaic carpet
crunches uncomfortably underfoot.
with the crimson rays of sunset.
In the puddles of the recent shower
swirl eddies of multicoloured oil,
distorting the reflections
of the rusting carcasses.
Hundreds of iron skeletons
in a pitiful parade.
Alloy wheels, toughened glass,
thrashed, crashed, and burnt-out.
They now mingle with the earth
from which they were once made.
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