Hold off on your verdict for her now.
Put by your own condemnations.
You never lived behind the wall
In the grip of grievous self-abnegations.

In the morning, while opening eyes,
She destroys and despises herself in whole!
She hates herself! She abhors the world,
Which she has made by herself alone.

She wants everything would disappeared,
Evaporated as though it's never been
So that there's nothing left around,
Nothing reminded of her as she's been.

And she would start with a blank sheet.
Forgiven, redeemed and clearly blameless,
Hold off on your verdict for her now,
For her, who leans over ruins.

I stumbled upon it—
this ruin, veiled in ivy,
its ribs of stone strangled
by nature’s lace.

A withered door hangs
on one iron thread—
the last breath of smiths
dressed in oxide.

Fractured silence beckons
childish will to explore.
Danger wrapped in lichen,
blight decays the frame.

Dense fog dulls the raven’s
black wings—set the tone.
Moss-laden windows,
sinew stripped from bone.

To be continued....

By Darren Wall

I frolic among ruins, my own creation
I dance with enemies long dead
Their ghosts still whisper condemnation,
I laugh at words unsaid.

A crown of thorns, a throne of dust,
I rule the wreckage with delight.
Let them curse me if they must—
Their shattered bones are quite the sight.

I tip the scales, I rig the game,
I drink the venom, wear the blame.
What fun is virtue, meek and hollow,
When sin is sweeter to swallow?

I set the fire, I stoked the blaze,
Watched it burn with a gilded gaze.
Regret’s a game for fools to play—
I’d raze it all again today.

What joy it is to know damnation
And still refuse to change or stand,
To greet the flames with exultation,
A willing fate at my own hand.

I've not the arms to hold you
nor the heart to keep you warm
in spirit I am with you
to walk among the ruins
and watch your history burn
your face will always haunt me
as a fleeting moment passes
eyes that looked right through me
cradle so close to the grave

Silent ruins stand,
Ghosts of a lost world whisper,
Dust cloaks barren dreams.

A wild rose is a lasting thing
Growing amongst the ruins
Full of life despite neglect
And you know the place one blooms

A wild rose is a pretty thing
To decorate your room
All pink and leafy splendor
To cheer away the gloom

A wild rose is a thorny thing
Its vines tear you apart
You can’t grasp it directly
Work gently towards the heart

Push aside its catching strands
Leave the petals strewn
Take the freshest flowers
For more will blossom soon

A wild rose is a stubborn thing
You may plant it if you dare
Take a cutting from its base
But make your choice with care

For a wild rose is a feral thing
You can’t charm it to your will
Forever spreading beauty
Is its nature to fulfill

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She was drowning in her web of darkness
But nobody saw her struggle —
Nobody and yet her smile’s
Still as sweet as cherry in the bitter night.

Faces forced into ruins
As they look for crying shoulders.
But she kept her brilliance in her vessel
Despite her smoky and fiery red eyes.

She whispers hope
Even if her radiance is put on hold…
She says, “There’s still beauty in ashes
And painful tears could still portray
A wonderful masterpiece.”

She wipes for them as she seeks no return —
And she lends her wounded hand
While her bleeding continues
To diminish her worth.

She was dancing in the rain
Finding comfort in the blanket
Of the roaring and proud oceans.
He was leaving her existence —
With the melody of unspoken apologies
And forgotten regrets.

While some people keep changing partners —
As if it’s so, so easy
Like changing their hair or their clothes…
Hope that it’s not to avoid changing themselves.
Hope that their choice will lead them
To the betterment of themselves.

They’re so busy growing up,
Chasing their dreams —
Praying and believing that these things will last…
But they often forget
That they’re also growing old —
Old days and now it’s getting cold
And no more whispers of love are told.