Wastelands and Ghost Towns

What becomes of all these words we waste on the unlistening world? Where do these words go when they fall down into the great silences that lie like abandoned ghost towns on these open plains and deserts that lie between us all?

We have wandered these wildernesses all alone, crawling across dunes of silence and plains of distance, looking out for those oases and water holes that will bring us some kind of comfort, while hearing the words blowing on the winds that range and storm through these forgotten landscapes.

We wanted so much to find some lost civilisation, some fabled city or Eldorado that would take us in and listen to these words that we carried across those baked bare landscapes in the hope that one day we would find someone to listen. Now, though, we see that there are no great cities here, no great lost civilisation, nothing that wants to hear these few precious words we have saved from the ravages of our fraught journeying. All there is are these few torn images blown by indifferent winds down the ruined remnants of shabby streets, between the faded wreckage of a few shacks and huts.

Just a crumbling wreck of a ghost town that sits indifferent as it crumbles into this desert while we stand shouting these few last words impotently at its indifference.