The ocean’s sigh
And witnessed
Ripples on its shores
The shushing waves
Left in repose
Storms and
The gentlest breath of air
Stripped me down
To barest essence
Through all that
Have I watched
The comings and goings
Of the living
Three doorways nestled
Among the flame trees
Ornate, proud and beckoning
Mysteries locked inside
What I love about ruins most is the gestures of grandeur or utility they once were, the stories of their use, of their place in a time and society which no longer exists. I love them for the markers of history they are, here, now — in the present — how they act as transporters to another time, another place.
Destruction, afterall, is what hurricanes like Harry do!
“Don’t worry”
Said the stubby, tenacious conifer
“I’ve got your six”
His platoon murmuring support
But every time
You notice the window
The open space beyond it
The hopeful road
Leading somewhere promising