Condemned Building
I kicked at the broken glass of words in the condemned building,
where sonnets and poems were once written,
where there were once books and notebooks of ideas,
where there were once book shelves full of books
now replaced by broken glass and broken dreams
once words birthed as ideas in the air.
A generation of ideas put to paper and spoken to audiences-
-everywhere-
Shattered memories at my feet
seen once as beauty.
I ask myself why I’m here in this condemned building
Where nothing can be resurrected but fleeting memories of what once was.
On the floor now as broken words from a time long ago.
What I thought of as a golden calf cannot prosper
as that idea is dead and broken like the glass of the condemned building.
I see past it where true life lives
in real living breathing words that cannot die.
Words that forgive and see past my own folly of false idols and false beliefs
Never to be believed at all.
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