This Blighted Haze

The freezing cold of winter,

the days never warm,

huddling instinctively, thoughtlessly for heat

voiced silence rings round the industry

quiet ears hear no snow,

clouds froze far without these shimmering lands,

a crescent moon adorns the pale blue,

the sun only warming the last edge of day,

steelworks uncanny send cross this blighted haze,

within I rest alone realizing the gloom,

day turns to night and yet we bound onward,

black silhouettes split the fallen moon’s domain,

an upside down starscape rushing in chaos beneath,

before that night where all are stars.

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