Whoops almighty.

Whoops almighty.

Shopping mall death knell. With a nod to WB Yeats.

At last, I found some shelter

Wandering through jaded halls

An old precinct in need of a makeover

An escape from the rain

A refuge from another storm

Filled, as it was, with blank-faced survivors

Who may, just as well have been dead

Fleeing the rain

Steam rose from damp skin as though

We had just escaped a battlefield

Wild-eyed stallions tearing through a valley

Blood and sputum spraying out in evidence of hysteria.

Little children sat at tables playing with broken toys

Doodling in ragged colouring books

Whilst others practised their ABC’s writing out letters

On scraps of paper supplied by the coffee shop

It was a friendly device

To keep tortured mums sitting still a little longer

Hoping for another refill or a chocolate brownie

Looking at maximising

The profit margin per paying customer

I was watching the fall of Byzantium

These ancient halls that once were painted brightly new

Now fallen into disrepair

So many ghosts dragging themselves painfully

Along

Their chains might be invisible

But the effects of their restriction

Draws the blood from so many faces

What future now for these ancient palisades

Reminders of a long-dead past

When people wandered, eagerly

Unaware of the fragility of their future

How tethered it was to the notion of freedom

Plague and intolerance were an unknowable distraction

Until the change came

And the skies turned a bloody red hue

The air thick with the acrid taste of hypocrisy

Oh how the mighty have fallen

When the worms turn,

There is only one way this hell will end

We are all as dust

On the dirty floor of this old place

Ghostly footprints

Nothing more nor less

Than a memory

Of happier times when freedom was sold to the populace

As a lifestyle choice

A granite worktop

A sunken bath and spa

A fully sprung wooden floor

Before the despots and tin pots

Who would be dictators

Divided up the wealth

And then girded themselves in

The tattered remains of its spoils

Before the worms turned

And the old world burned

Leaving nothing but these arcane halls,

Echoes of dead footfalls,

Awaiting their destruction

In what might be

The final days of Byzantium