Mystery

Mystery

Dream of the memory of what the steelmill was when it was moving.
Game of inventing how it worked.

Undergroung passage, dark, unknown.
Shelter. Fear.
The wind whistling. Vertigo.

Under my feet is a ground floor which has become underground when debris piled up, cut by damp and muddy tunnels.

Darkness around my lamp’s halo, which can hold anything… Untill I sweep it with a ray of light.