Dark Passage - A Moonlit Journey through Urban Decay

Urban DecaySlowly descendingThe spiral staircaseInto urban decayOn this night long journey -Preceded by flashlightAnd followed by the full moon,Whose eyes hold us all inHis view as the street lightFlickers in and out in orange shades. Spirit of the PastThe spirit of the pastLives inThe whispers of the wind andThe hoot of the hoary owl,Which echoes sadly evermoreAgainst the lonely trees -Who for days uncountedHave seen the endless journeys of menCome to and end beneath them -This final respiteMarked by names and datesOn lonely tombs.Ghost HuntingThere is a ghost in the shellOf every old place -Whether the unclaimed metal skeletonOf an abandoned steel mill,Or the spirit that lingersOn the grounds of a historic graveyard.These ancient places carryThe immortal remnantsOf old civilization.Exploring them toExamine their secretsLike an urban archaeologist -Chasing down the answersTo urban legendsAnd ghost stories -Simply to knowWhat came before.Abandoned FactoryOnce full of life,This old building;With memories locked awayUnder layers of dust.Cigarette butts and broken beer bottlesLitter the lonely lot. Once vital and activeIn the world of mortal men,Now immortal in its skeletal frame -The ghost in the shell of theAbandoned factorySpeaks secrets of long misused tools,Broken cinder blocks,And locked away rooms -Modern ruins and electric tombsLong left behindOn this hidden highway.And evermore in urban legend. Stomping GroundTraversing the rural fringesOf urban reality,Haunting the spiritsWith lamps and curious minds.Marble CityI know when you were born and died,But I want to see beyond the mossOn your gravestone.Who were you in life?Old ChurchI. Cathedral.I go back in time as I brush webs of dustFrom the stained glass window,Wondering what secrets thisOld church buried with its dead.II. Esoteric.As stained as memory,This old window yet reflects lightLike the sermons once heldIn the holy hall.Farewell Party (Leaving the Old Church)The ravens on the roofStand guard like gargoyles -These grim feathered ghoulsPerch atop the once proud passagesThat they now pretend to own,And sing a sad a cappellaIn mockery of memory.To End a JourneyI leave as the morning lightLifts the late night's velvet veilAnd the moon bids farewellTo the starry sky,Wondering if warning signsWill be like hieroglyphsTo a future age.Into the LightWalking at the crack of dawn onThis early morn,Through fresh cut grassAnd beside foggy fields,My shoes soaked with dew -I stop to take a drinkAnd pause to think:This simple heaven’sGreater’nThat urban hell.AtalayaDark watch towerOverlooking the lonely beachBuilt without blueprint -Summer home sculptedFrom brick and mortar,Its plans first and solely sketchedIn the dreams of a genius and poet.Ordered chaos - artistic anarchy;The sculpture room seems toSummon the spiritOf the poet's late wife -As if the ghostOf the lady sculptorHaunts the mossy hallsJust to finish her last work.Manifest DestinyHow wild was the west?How true rang the gold,That men sought and killedFor it?How mighty the steed,And how much mightierThe man who rode itAnd held the law on his hip?How long the roads of those days?How deep the secrets?Would the spirits ofDoc Holliday and Wyatt EarpSpeak to us in the old saloon?