Glance Behind Clasped Hands at Hobb's End

Lightning but no thunder,
Darkness but no rain,
Foreboding without the slash of horror.
 
Dark clouds that milk the should-be-golden-sky.
A shuttering luke warm wind that smells of decay.
Windows that are kept shuttered through all hours.
 
A blackest point rises up above the shops and houses,
An old church with unfitting architecture,
The new red painted door that bled down to the cobbled stone.
 
Beyond,
Tall thin, charred stick trees,
Moss and straw grass grow over the cracked rocks, with the twisting symbols.
 
An overturned train rests beside warped, twisted, curled tracks, bent away from each other.
 
Lightning but no thunder,
Darkness but no rain,
Foreboding without the slash of horror.
 
This is the visitors glance behind clasped hands at Hobb's End.