The city is quiet and alone.
The village flies a flag of truce.
The capital is broken and lost.

Tangled bushes grow along concrete paths.
A hungry dog barks alone in the park.
Vacant streets succumb to the encroaching forest.

The overarching sky is gray and void.
Tattered leaves are tumbled by icy gusts.
Storms assault the remnants of the empty homes.

No one knows when it started.
Memory of each day fades with sunset.
The reason for it all is long gone.

William Wayne Smith

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Original image: York: Ancient Ruins in black and white. By Jack Cousin [Image license]