Death Of A Mall
by Lord R.e. Taylor
You were the place to be
Every weekend, thousands of people
Crowded every inch of your walkways
They would spend hours looking for treasure
Maybe taking time to eat varied foods
Which we knew was not good for you
We, for sure didn't care, everything was so damn good
There were games and famous movies
And an unknown piano player in your centre
They always knew the best songs to play
But all of that was a distant lifetime ago
Modern times closed your shops one by one
People stopped coming around to see you
Almost in an instant, the people stopped coming
You died and began to fade away
Turning into dust, you no longer mattered
You became a storage area
With bins full of rich people’s crap
A good place for no one
With no fun memories
Just nothing
© Poem – XIII/V/MMXXV
LRET
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