The concrete bunker that housed a cache of fruit
Lies comatose; bored in a sea of action
Camouflaged now, both complete and obsolete
As the sentinel to wave upon wave of distraction
A future aspect reduced by silted draped cataracts
To the past’s slimmest ghosted vista
The old cigar can no longer be lit
Capable now of only tolling the single sound
Soiling itself without dispersing it’s seed
An unfertilised genealogy gone to ground
In shame and grief the butt of many a joke
Straddled by children’s play
While hell’s doors lie open
Heaven’s requires a key
And in the end
What had promised so much
Has ultimately delivered so little