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Sujan Jun 26
As memories become,
Ruins of the past,
Remnants of history,
Hazy and distant

See, how time flies
michael Jun 22
Around time scarred columns,
Sun bleached waves swell.
No songs or poems
Can say
What these weathered walls tell.
JustMK Jun 18
There is broken stone under my feet,
toppled pillars, their carved surfaces
reduced to dust now filtering through
the stray rays of light.
The windows now wide open
like wounds, like the skies and seas.
This fallen cathedral is a signal,
this is holy ground
you may never tread on.

These ruins are my birthplace,
the dying light, my mother.
These stones are my bones,
the fractured columns witness
my recreation.
I am new,

And as I open my eyes for the first time,
the wind fills my lungs and kisses my lips.
And I am in love once more.
I am in love with the light
breaking through the clouds,
in love with a warmth
that I've never felt before.
In love with the seas beyond my walls
and the ivy beneath my feet.
I am in love with life
and what I am slowly becoming

Fiercely in love with the breaking
and the tearing: the shedding of old skin.
And I am happy
I am wild
I am free

I am home
May 30 - and now I began to come to terms with who I am and the power I have within me to recreate my life.  The ruins I once believed myself to be can be made into something lovely
Iléana Amara Apr 29
Coffee sessions at 0219 St. Café,
Past 4 PM in the afternoon,
Flipping the rattan-made tissue holder,
"What's our case for today?"

Hours would go on for stories and opinions,
About our lives we all have yet fathomed.

It would start with no "Hello's" or "Hey's"
But "café later?" and "No" wasn't an answer,
Friends exist to have your back,
and for coffee and life discussions.

In a slow yet seemingly rapid motion of time,
No more greetings or invites or even goodbyes,
the usual café across the street was taken down,
Before anyone knew, we were walking down separated roads, it was a slow fade.

A lovely, comprehending friendship and frequent coffees,
all wrapped up with an invincible quiet farewell,
Worse than a bleeding heartbreak without any anesthesia,
I hold my composure up for such bittersweet ruins.

manas Apr 18
Castle on the hill

A lot lies in this valley that hide,
secrets in woods and stream reside.
Dying tales of history here persist,
protected like a mother by dazed mist.
Holding head high, you see past go still,
standing with pride, a castle  on the hill.

It stands tall, it stands bold,
look and you’ll find every story it holds.
As you adore this breathtaking view,
it slowly reveals it’s chronicles to you.
It yarns of glory and pride tranquil,
telling it’s tale, a castle on the hill.

But as you reach it’s forgotten  threshold,
it’s old scars and welts you behold.
To cruel history it’s gratitude it owed,
to fangs of revenge alas it’s head it bowed.
So it breaths it’s last, at outskirts of belleville,
dying of ignorance, a castle on the hill.
that's how time hits..hard and ruthless
Gabby Mar 3
I'm sat here in ruins.
Ruins of the earth, and ruins of myself.
Which one is worse? I cannot yet tell.
will probably add on?
Shadowhollow Jan 4
Rome burned
in a red iridescence
the houses burned
as did the ruins
And everything seemed perfect.
For Rome burned
in sunlight
and reminded us
of everything we were
and promised
to us
everything we will be
Ederae Jul 2019
Theres something here that wasn’t there before
Metal in the ground, and its people
Watching as it caves in
A porcelain signal to the root
Theres something here that wasn’t there before
Gravity, undone
I’ll be here when it tears itself to the floor
In ruins, and in figures making vows in smoke
There was something here that isn’t anymore
Ellie Grace Dec 2019
We held so much promise in our youth
Believing that together, we could change the world
It was a time before the darkness had settled into both of our bones.
Before pain had found a home inside our chests.
We were just two people searching for something more
Some grander purpose.

It wasn’t until much later,
With the consequences of the years that followed on our shoulders
That we realised,
Instead of changing the world
We lit a match
And watched it burn
We weren't the heroes after all
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2019
I hardly journey there anymore.

Those ruins are far and distant,
Far and distant, and black and grey.
Relics are moon rocks in the frozen landscape.

The grand façade of the pantheon has
Crumbled into sand. I could crush it all into
Dust beneath my heel.

The mind itself is an eye, a camera obscura,
Lit not by the moon—
That old pinged marble—

Over whose surface I skim in my tiny submarine.
The lunar scene fills my vision,
Film noir.

I spy the cold garden. In the heart of it
Gleams the litter of my chicken bones.
My cowardice the wicked reminder,

Consequence of the role I performed
For the impassive audience. I underwent
A sea change in the theatre of their minds.

On some other plane
Holy voyeurs peer through spyglass,
Seeking to undress the celestial paramour.

Such delicious vacancy—
**** statue in an arena of eyes,
Gristle picked clean by vultures.

The air is ****** dry. Cold stars
Abound in the black sky.
Smeared ink the lingering impression,

Smudged thumbprint.
What imagery! Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Blood for Honey", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
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