I have been to where
life is no more.
I have scratched the stone
and scraped the steel
Felt the echo bounce to and fro
of still-born thoughts.
How is it that when all the oil
has spilled and gone
The old drum is sentient still?
Did someone forget to switch off?
Or does someone work on,
in an as yet an unexplored corner
of this dark and empty office?
In case,
Hoping,
In case,
A new tenant arrives.
And wants to come in?