They're Pulling Down The Old Picture House Poem by Kevin Hulme

So it's farewell to the dusty old Picture House,
The cradle of my Childhood long past.
Now the playground it is to the scurrying mouse,
The Spiders and Mites that will roam to the last.
For within that fading lost palace,
And the peeling ‘Attractions To come'.
The tide of Technology's malice,
Has proclaimed that it's Heyday is done.
But back in the days of my Boyhood,
Between those dim blackened old walls.
We sat lost in a World of illusion,
On those numbing hard seats in the cheap money stalls.
For the Spartan Army were marching to fight,
Along the Athenian planes,
And Moses by Heaven gave aid to the plight,
Of a cowered lost people cast fevered in chains.
For all things were possible before our young eyes,
For an English Nanny seemed to fly.
And rugged He Men travelled through Space,
Wherein our minds would follow.
For all these Wonders we did embrace,
For innocent minds are apt to wallow. Then later emerge into the fading light,
And onward home we'd fly.
We were those heroes for an hour that night,
And there in dreams our tedium dies.
For they pulling down the old Picture House,
The Balcony, Screen and all.
And with it dies my infant past,
Now part of the dust by the Wreckers Ball.