chipped tooth Jul 13

Everything still exists,
and will continue to exist.
Every ruin, illegible or destroyed or altered
is here-
Not alive, but present.
Today,
we have heritage sights and landfills.
History is a Waste of our time.
It sticks like tar
in the Earth’s lungs.
I stood before the Great Pyramids
and I wondered if my
great grandchildren’s great grandchildren
will do the same when
our past stacks as high

Shane Leigh Jul 1

Deep,
In the trenches of the sea,
There lay a city
Left to ruin.
Coral gripping like moss,
Like vines,
Spreading contagiously -
This is not my Heaven,
Does a lovely voice sing.
Will you drown, in peace, with me?

Lost voices
Alone and afraid in the dark;
Hidden in the midst;
Suffering,
But not entirely.
Sirens,
Beauties of lost spirits in seasons before my own;
Drowned by water;
Lost to fire;
Sunken,
Only to be known as myth -
But not a myth of life and loss.

Their songs beautiful,
Seductive,
Passing through your ears,
Resinating deep within your soul;
But their lust for life ...
Savage,
Vicious.
Oh,
How they long for life anew -
Again.
Not to be stolen from them,
And wish not to take;
And wish not to dwell.

A lost city drowned in time;
A Siren's city ...
A Siren's lament ...
A Siren's deep and hated
Hell.

Jobira Jun 30

The river running under your feet,

Cries no more to your beat

Shall you be delighted,

for your attain?
  
When only ruins,

on earth remain?

There is a poem I have yet to write,
For how does one write what only the heartless can feel?
I speak with shards of my memory,
For I am simply a shell of what once was.
I love with my blood draining from my veins to write life, love in the empty white spaces.
I am incapable of extracting my soul from the gallows where it remains chained to my hast been.
But one can pretend to comprehend the foreign language that is my one and only fear.. love...
For love is tempting and even the empty long for impossibility.
I can say I love you in a emotionless and heartfelt tone.
For I love you in my own coldness, seeing hope is still resting on one side of your ruins, while mine was emptied long ago.
I need not feed your ears or your heart lies to speed you to recovery, but am content to give you the tiny morsels of me that remain so that your wounds May bare only scars in remembrance.
I unlike you bare no signs of redemption, so I freely give you what is still free of rot and withering so that you may live with me.
I am simply and only a shell with little crystals to give,
For love once passed through me walking away with my soul, and love is now far beyond the reach of my door.

I've broken through
The wall that has surrounded
me.
Not a word
has been written by my hand
since a time so far forgotten.
Overgrowth from disuse
has cluttered my focus,
drying up my ambition
although no sun has shone upon it.
My thoughts became cracked,
dusty with age,
and the webs
became so thick
I couldn't cut them with fire.
But like a maze,
I found a path through.
There were dead ends,
and tricks,
and traps along the way,
but I made
the correct turns to get back
to that place
like a mouse to cheese.
I've found my pen,
and through the ink,
my words will find the world.

The ruins peered out from behind
The blue-flecked crag
Where eagles nested.
Wind-blown, storm-tossed
Only the walls remain.
The turrets are now heaps of grass covered
Bricks, the keep a muddy mound.

Here, once were warriors,
Draped in furs, bearing swords
That glinted across the sea in defiance,
Defending the land from strangers.
Here, once were warriors-
All long gone!

Time itself has altered what once
Was considered unalterable.
When kings ruled from inland palaces
And long powerful ships caressed the jagged
Shore; now washed up on the beach
Like the kingdom they protected, flotsam:
Cruelly ruined planks of elm, distorted by
Sea and salt; masts broken and disfigured.

A once glorious people, now gone!
Palaces overthrown!
All hanging onto unforgiving Time
Like fossilised carbuncles.
Ripped from Time in a plethora of
Anguished voices dying slowly-
Calling out for resolution.

m i a Mar 1

hearts and minds have become televised
we give every part of us for the world to
see and judge, because we crave attention
and criticism more than ever, just so we
can hold a grudge, like fudge
when have we ever
seen a society more damaged
than our own?

Maria Imran Feb 20

Use this deep discomfort, this anxiety sprouting from your ruins within
Create.

(Never fall for a fool again?)
romy Dec 2016

THE PAST IS DEAD AND GONE, YOU GET NOTHING FROM LIVING THERE…
BUT IT’S YOU, IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU.

I FELT LESS ALONE WHEN I DIDN’T KNOW YOU.
I WISH WE HAD NEVER MET, I WISH WE HAD NEVER MET…
I TRIED TO RUIN MYSELF BEFORE YOU COULD.
WE RUINED EACH OTHER.
I AM THE RUINS OF WHAT WERE ONCE YOUR DREAMS.
i hate that your music is good
i hate that your music is good
i hate that i still care
i hate that i still care

i don’t want to remember anything
EVERYTHING I DO IS AN ATTEMPT TO FORGET YOU.
MY AURA USED TO BE BRILLIANT AND GOLDEN.
WHEN YOU TOUCHED MY PSYCHE IT TURNED GRAVE GREEN.

SUCH SWEET SORROW; I THRIVE ON BROKEN HEARTS.
MINE, YOURS, HIS, HERS.
i have not seen your face in ages
i have not seen your face in ages
i have not been able to breathe
i have not been able to breathe

i hate that your music is good
i don’t want to remember anything

i shouldn't still be writing about you!
Terry Collett Dec 2016

Early dawn. Bird song
outside. You recline on
the armchair. He's upstairs

in bed engaged in sleep,
and dreaming of her no
doubt, not you. The bed

was too hot anyway, and
he murmurs in his sleep,
mentioning her name,

not yours. You recline in
the armchair, the burgundy
one you both had chosen,

dressed in just your white
silk slip. You wonder what
she's like in bed(you know

he has had her by the way
he acts), how she performs
in his sex circus, how she

looks undressed. His posh
mother did warn you he
was liable to wander off.

But you thought you knew
best, thought you had him
where you wanted him,

but you were wrong, he
goes where he pleases and
with whom he so pleases.

He sleeps upstairs, you
recline downstairs. You
picture her in your mind:

the slim figure, the blonde
hair, the thin lips, small
breasts(not quite his thing

you'd thought), and that
god awful cheap voice.
The armchair is firm, yet

so soft. He had you once
over the arm of this chair.
After the Harmsworth party,

both of you had had a bit
too much drink;it seemed
at good idea at the time.

Now you just recline,
listening to birdsong,
knowing it had been
spoilt, all gone wrong.

A WOMAN MUSES ON HER RUINED MARRIAGE.
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