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The end of civilization

clutching tightly

as the last of the warmth slides away

and 

cold the cup

now filled with the sound that

has no fury.

Not a sound

that 

can be heard and understood

but sound.

Fury

perhaps lost

in a momentary

lapse

failing to produce a ticket

as the conductor 

walks the train.

All aboard

the empty cup

that holds warmth no more.

  • This is a very old poem, is it more than 10 years old?

    • Yes
    • No
  • Tell me what you think it is about in the comments, please?

    • Yes
    • No

What do you think?

11 points
Legend

Written by DocAndersen

I am a long time blogger and technology poster.I focus on what is possible, but I also try to see what is coming. In recent years I have been focused on sharing the memories of my family, as part of my Family History Project.

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