Member Poem

Ruins

I see a building
stroked by neglect, kissed by moss
for years.
I see families
bags of the past abandoned
departing for shores further.
I see iron ripping
through the concrete, the walls
criss-crossing cracks.

Ruin
Inevitable ruin.
When the future arrives
the past has to leave.
It is the way.

They still see
silks on the floors, swords on the walls,
the glory of the past glistening
still
in the overgrown garden,
the broken down kitchen.
They talk of
shining spheres hanging from the rafters
where pigeons roost now
golden orbs bought from
foreign lands.

We leave,
pride in their eyes
holding on, holding on to
what is no more.
We leave,
pictures of ruins in my lenses
crumbling, fading sepia.