In a coiling maze
mortars fume.
Crimson cadavers
dye the verdant soil.
Poison spears plunge
craters into young flesh.
Scattered moans rise
into the sorrowing air
of deafened canons
and carbon.
No succour or welcome
for the maimed.
Only ghosts
of peace.
What does it mean to break the ordinary
to lift a pen like a chisel against stone,
knowing the first stroke
may draw blood from your own palm
before the marble yields?
The poet stands in rubble,
not as scavenger but as archaeologist of the unspoken,
sifting through what civilization discarded:
rusted prayers,
half-truths wrapped in silk,
the hollow promises fed to hungry mouths.
Here, in the space between collapse and creation,
we learn the grammar of phoenix-speech
how ash becomes ink,
how destruction whispers the blueprints of what endures.
To shatter,
is to reveal the fault lines already etched beneath the surface,
to name the cracks we've learned to ignore.
And so we build:
not monuments to beauty,
but altars to the beautiful refusal,
where truth burns clean,
where words rise like smoke signals from the wreckage,
calling to those who still remember how to see.
painful as a drill
my fleeing love
like a broken mirror
with only faults
a joy found in a heap
within the rubble of its absence
TENDER VICTIMS (Children of Gaza Contest)
Dust-covered children,
With tear-streaked faces
And bloodshot eyes.
Orphaned. Abandoned.
Offered no respite--
Empty promises and lies.
Barefoot in rubble,
Tiny hands reaching,
Covered in flies.
Surrounded by debris,
Shattered homes,
With none to hear their cries.
The six o’clock news
Tells their story--
And gets one or two sighs.
They are not headlines,
not numbers
stacked in columns of loss.
They are children...
running with paper kites
stitched from the scraps of yesterday,
drawing suns with broken crayons
on walls that no longer stand.
Their laughter once rose
above the call to prayer,
a fragile hymn
against the roar of falling skies.
Now, quiet shows them before their time
how to carry grief in tiny palms,
how to tuck emptiness close
as though it had been cradled in their chest all along.
Yet—
in the rubble,
a doll without arms still wears a smile.
In the dust,
tiny feet trace games
on streets the world has forgotten.
Hope is stubborn.
It hides in their eyes
flickering like a candle
protected from the wind,
whispering to us
if we tune our hearts to
their quiet voice,
...that childhood
should be a garden,
not a graveyard of dreams.
Remember them.
Not as shadows of war
but as children who deserve
to wake beneath an unbroken sky.
Falling into a dream apposed to their reality,
Living what seems to be the idea of their own personal fantasy,
The character they play is more than they are,
This egotistical deception steals their own heart,
Why is simple not enough? Why must they compare?,
What purpose does the mask hold? Why is it there?,
When innocence tried to hold on with all its might,
Until they realized that this world is just one big fight,
To steal away empathy, love, and compassion,
And driving them to replace love with deception,
Instead of digging through the rubble of a broken world,
Or holding the hand of the heartbroken until their wounds are healed,
Or taking the time to see under the behavior that has caused so much pain,
Having the love and patience not to leave them this way,
g a l e -
f o r c e
w i n d s
l a s h i n g
r i p p i n g
rooftops
walls,
c
o
l
l
a
p
s
e ~
r u b b l e tells the tale
there is beauty where i look
some days i need to look harder
i used to wake up and taste the promise
of wonder and magic in the air
now it's more of a daily struggle
maybe the connections have become rusty
perhaps life just wore me down
but optimism is truly worth the struggle
AP: 2nd place 2025
Beneath the Rubble
Unfinished artwork waits on the shelf,
Hidden between dark pages,
Scribbles on paper long to be free.
As a lover waits, it too waits,
For the breath of life,
Seasons pass without promise.
In the womb’s dark, an embryo craves,
Nourishment, life’s blood,
“Edit me,” it cries, “Color me crimson.”
Forget not,
A story to be told,
A poem promised,
Longing.
The sun’s rays cascade through the leaded windowpane,
You wake to the quiet space,
Between thought and being,
A stirring deep within the heart.
You pause, reach for the notebook,
Blow off the dust,
Gently turn the page,
Hope.
Pen in hand,
Flesh exposed.
Red blood appears,
Life.
A sigh of relief,
The long-lost lover arrives.
Structures crumbling under the weight of
the decisions made in haste
Beneath the rubble lies all the reasons it was
all laid to waste
The signs were seen but disregarded as mere
means to an end
The golden mean would've sufficed but extremes
prevailed once again
Lack of faith in what is seen lead to harder lessons
learned
Some fight hard for their destruction so their path
is truly earned
You can preach until the cows come home but many
won't give a second listen
I guess the slaughter is more enticing to their
inhumane animalism
We're cannibalistic in a sense with the way we come
for each other
We've been deceived to come against & to fight
one another
Everyone loses at the end of days if we're overcome
by the night
We're in the midst of the battle of all battles with
those that wish to force a fight
They say that all is fair in love & war and that
purple hearts are a blessing
All I see are the wounds that decorate us while we
endure convalescence
Open your eyes unto the message before you take
further steps
I implore you to be righteous in your ways so that
you avoid oversteps
If quite clean is this portrayal
For the Rouble quit betrayal...
We don't higher fly with trouble:
We remain The Trapped in a rubble
You can't be seeker of trouble
And of it not clinch a double?
Currency to hurt not Rouble
How long can you with joy bubble?
Now a mansion soon great Rubble
If you dare betray The Rouble
For life body heat might double,
For disguise more of your stubble;
Things shall still be much unstable,
Russia might not near her cable.
If damned clear is this portrayal
For the Rouble spare betrayal.
A man
tensely
tied to a
tired tempered tower.
With his mind
like a reticent
rutted rat
scurrying off
to cower
within the
crooked cryptic
corners of
reality.
But whose
heart is the
only hand
reaching out
of the rubble.
Still hanging
onto a
half hushed
howl of hope.
Life in our rubble
Repel red army
Fake news? Friends don't bomb children
Don't just survive, thrive.
575 howmanysyllables.com
Humans destroying human settlements.
This is an integral part of war.
The war of two neighboring governments!
You'll be forgiven for asking what for!
Beautiful buildings are hollow shells.
Tangled rubble lies all around;
There are no parks, streets or malls.
Everything's been razed to the ground!
Delicate women crying in the streets,
Children weaned from education!
Men want to see who the other defeats.
There's a destroying of all construction!
You'll be told this is politics.
Quarrels and issues between peoples.
Some would say semantics.
Pride based intractable squabbles!
An alien scanning planet Earth
Would see an interesting phenomenon:
A species that, when feeling wrath,
Destroys its dwellings with wild abandon!
haven broken bubble
start seeing all the rubble
People walking stumble
would they would complain
drove me crazy and insane
which way they remain
better leave alone
or be blown away by drone
had to set the tone
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.