Landmark
The structure remains,
weathered and beaten,
cracked at the base,
chipped around the edges.
The tour guide is vigilant,
including all pertinent
information, how many
were murdered, where the
bodies were buried.
Most in the group
assume he's embellishing,
study his deadpan face,
try to find a wry smile
in the darkened eyes. It
doesn't matter whether
he's exaggerating or not.
Stale sweat stains
the molten windows;
beams and boards
still smell of blood.
~~~
First published in Pyrokinection; Kind of a Hurricane Press
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