Pripyat


Naked trees, Patiently;
Warn onlookers, They should leave...

Lakes and streams, Laced with green,
Swirled like they’ve been, paved with bleach...

Vacantly; Grey and bleak
Concrete cliff, with Face so steep

Stopped in it’s tracks
Tipped on its side
Clock with no hands
No concept of time

The Ultimate stain, the fragrant remains,
The man In the picture, The ghost we’ve explained.

A landscape untamed, Like odourless flames
That will burn and not flicker, Till the end of this age

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