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lua Aug 2020
and there is darkness once again in this place
of the gentle strum of a broken guitar
and the old crumbling walls that surround us
eager to give in
and let the ceiling ripple
crashing like giant waves
on a bright beach's shore
but we escape
from all these things birthed from ruin
and the tenderness of a warm hand
we escape
each fragmented laugh that echo the halls
and the days etched into the earth
we escape
and leave our souls behind
one piece at a time
and plant it into the soil
hoping it could grow and flourish
in this dark place.
Lily Priest Jul 2020
Im quixsotically sick
Pining for my pick of the nostalgic.
Ruined stone upon ruined stone
With their merest mutterings
hold more splendour
Than the present,
So absent I become,
Distracted and whimsical
In my love for all I will never see
Sujan Jun 2020
As memories become,
Ruins of the past,
Remnants of history,
Hazy and distant

See, how time flies
michael Jun 2020
Around time scarred columns,
Sun bleached waves swell.
No songs or poems
Can say
What these weathered walls tell.
Patterson Jun 2020
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,
fresh,
unbroken,
untouched

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
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
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.

IA
manas Apr 2020
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 2020
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?
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