The Furnace

December 7, 2005

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The world is waiting to die. Cold air seeps through spaces, the furnace unable to penetrate, silenced voices scream through speakers, seeping into my senses. Rising heat settles, the cold subsides, warming my intention. Discarded trends, discounted bins, a world undecided, persuasive, unstable, echoing voices mimic each other, radio waves conform, a standard chorus, the cooling furnace, what is left when apathy follows? A world without reason at best.

The world is waiting to die. Clean air falls from graces, the furnace unable to catch a break, silenced voices speak through dreamers, seeping into my senses. Rising heat ignites, the cold arrives, warning my intention. Misguided trends, mistreated friends, a world under pressure, persuasive, unstable, lingering voices gather together, radio waves are torn, a broken chorus, the resting furnace, what is left when empathy hollows? A world out of season at best.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist