I am an abandoned building
a series of echoing rooms
creaky whispering floorboards
crowned by star freckled roof
as time advances and takes its toll
a structure solid…and decaying
unhidden…but strangely unseen
secrets bursting…but unspoken
the stories these walls could tell…
memories from rafter to foundation
it takes courage to brave these halls
asking the right questions…
what happened to it all
that it should remain…empty
so sadly neglected
years counted in the shadows
darker patterns on fading facades
where outlines of shapes and images…
once occupied a now empty space
until absence took their place
wind whistles through cracked windows
curling around welcoming hearth
it beckons to curiosity
burns still with undying heat
and…always waiting
I love abandoned buildings and urbex, places that have personality & soul. It really makes you think about all the stories and feelings that haunt those rooms long settled into stillness and the quiet noise of slow decay, so much like those old folks now mostly forgotten.
I am an urbex hound myself and feel much the same as you. I suppose that’s what made me follow that theme. Thank you 😊
Fantastic, and abandoned. Excellent.
Thank you 😊
Powerful work. Vivid and sharp.
Thank you, Thomas 😊
Powerfully penned, Willow. Excellent write my friend, your choice in accompaniment fit your words nicely. You have an ear for it in fact. Nicely done as always. I dig this a lot. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian. Coming from you, that means a lot. I try to hear what the words are saying. They always have a voice of their own and I guess I enjoy and connect more easily with them than with people frequently. Just gotta listen. Thank you, my friend 😊
Art at its best. We’re lucky to have you here Willow.
Thank you so much! You just made my morning beautiful 😊
Now it matches you. 🙏💖
🧡
Willow, I hardly know what to say. It is a great honor to have something named for me. I am doubly pleased that it is a decaying old thing which — no, this is not an insult!– that it creaks, with unspoken stories and strangely unseen secrets; the wind does whistle through my cracked windows, my friend, and curiosity still burns with undying heat. another story is always waiting. Yes, you couldn’t have painted a better picture of me with a camera. Thank you for this lovely, lovely gift!
FD
The stories untold are moments lost. When nobody asks, they remain locked away. My elders have been my rocks. The Roots I grew from. Without those stories, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Your young ones must feel the same of you, my friend