Rusted shutters clutch empty rooms,
Chests with no treasure,
Cages with no captives,
All that’s left belongs to the dust.
Ghost footsteps echo in the rafters,
Prints worn deep in linoleum,
Squeaks and clicks, once unending,
Now forever lost.
Rats rule the corridors,
Roaches breed in the pipes,
A pidgeon waits for silence
before spreading its wings with a clap.
The teenagers have had their fill,
The children long since grown,
The filth and grime are all that’s left
To call this hallowed place their home.
Corey Laisure 