To vandals:

The finishing has peeled away,
the walls stripped down and bare;
exposed too long, they've now decayed,
their rubble everywhere.

The floor has shattered, fragments gone,
the remnants hanging there;
impossible to tread upon,
unless with utmost care.

Although I find, a sign of life,
within this tangled heap;
a promise made by blade of knife
carved in the wreckage deep.

A vow to fix this broken place,
to stay and see it's keep.
Sweet irony, a bitter taste;
to vandals, vows are cheap.