Can you sense the hidden atmosphere?
Can you taste what time has sealed there?
Tune in you're inner ear,
Its a silent land where nothing stays the same
Yet where there is little change.
Just a new crop of another variation.
a yearly cycle of planted rejuvenation.
Abandonment whispers it's tale of misery.
Decaying buildings confirm there's a mystery.
Everywhere I encounter discarded Icons from history!
How I long to perceive,
what causes such hope too flee.
What trampled the farmer's faith...
once firmly believed.
When first enchanted by their prairie dreams.
Off in the distance my travelers eye see,
a place that's suitable,
for several of my needs.
With no one around too disturb,
I can practice my new flute unheard.
Stopping to inspect what I will,
my car putts up a forgotten homesteads hill.
Feeling rather alone.
I'm violating an abandoned home.
Through filthy window panes,
I see a trace of love was saved.
Faded, lace curtains still remain.
Material once of the finest weave,
casting shadows over a calendar beneath,
I think I read... the year... 1953.
On the ground lay generations of rejected appliances,
Each one a testimony of the advancing sciences.
Each one making the people,
just a little more mechanically reliant.
Inventions praised as marvels of their age.
Yet trashed as soon as a better model was made.
Perhaps such progressive attitudes,
was part of the reason,
their children sought easier roots.
Under more piles of withered grass,
almost completely buried out back.
I discovered an old vehicle I tried to excavate.
What a shock I received when I uncovered it's plate.
Through the rust I could clearly read...1953.
My compassion started to bleed.
With my inner eye now opened I could clearly see.
Suddenly I needed to scream out my own battle cry.
So I raised my flute towards the massive blue sky,
Attempting to solute an era gone by.
But my feeble music...
Like this place just died.
Stolen by the harsh prairie winds.
In a land that will reclaim, whatever it can.
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