IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK

The Ruin

A poem

Photo by Raph Howald on Unsplash

What broke this wall,
this city cracked and laid to rest?
Rooftops caved in like flowers
resting on a chest —

gates that once rejoiced and creaked,
now still and silent in their sleep —
buildings, like eggs, shattered in their nest.

What bent this city to its knees,
this citadel, this castle, this stronghold of dignity?
Fate? Grave-gripped?

A hundred generations fade into the mist
because that is how it is?
Fierce walls of blood and blue

reduced to hues of cowardice.
Or simply time?
its constant toll upon what is.

This gray,
this dead,
is nothing but a thread of yesterday.

Yet stubborn stones remain,
like bones, unmoved,
smoothed by time’s slow drain,

the ruthlessness of rain exposed,
for water drips, rips
and stains,