Ruins Poems - Poems about Ruins

Ruins of the thirst for destiny, we consume ourselves in our own desire to be, Our weakness, the key to the historical future, has reduced us to nothingness, Yet it also saved us, gifting us the taste of collapse, sweet and dizzying, We yearn for an event that surpasses all events, A fear that transcends all fears, embracing us...

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The winds of change blow harsh in crushing time’s unidirectional course, waft from an unseen end to another unknown. The momentum they gather from the ordained power increases ever with the turn of time’s wheel. The direction they receive from the message of events can’t be altered in the pages of history. Civilizations blew away in the destined gales, the Indus...

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By Imran Ahmed She Shattered Me Like Fragile Glass Left Me Bleeding In The Echoes Of Our Past I Gave Her Love As Deep As The Ocean Yet She Drowned Me In Waves Of Cold Devotion Falling To My Knees I Call Her Name But Only Silence Answers Whispering Blame My Heart Torn Open Bleeds In Vain Each Beat A Whisper Of Unbearable...

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I could never ruin anything. With my writing- There are loose letters, dangling from the ceiling. I could never stop writing. Just like- That sink can’t stop dripping. Drip, drop. No plumber is coming to save the day. I could never count to 1000. I could never ice skate perfectly. I could never figure out why… There is nothing else...

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Ruins In our arrogance, we humans build monuments to ourselves. We seek to subjugate nature to our whims and desires. We erect buildings for our comfort and ease. Designing them to last for all eternity. Isolating ourselves from all that is natural. In the end, nature has the final word and nothing is left of us but ruins. ...

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The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella encourages us to: gather 'round. His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech. What catches my wandering eye is that this one ruined effigy is a fair facsimile of myself. He (a...

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I sank like a fatigued sunset in a storm, leaving a vase of grieving roses~ filled with thistles and weathered verses, while I await moonlight to kiss my weeping pillow… But can the sky erase the synonyms of grief, when raining ruins is all this heart weaves? ...

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Under cliff hides life Long time here the world slept Ancient homes remain....

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Dust-veiled memories, a canvas of sand and sea. Gaza, etched in the soul, a love that will not flee. Waves whisper secrets, to the shore, now bare and cold. Each grain of sand, a tear, a story yet untold. The body is exiled, the heart remains, bound by invisible chains — a longing, fierce and deep, for home, where dreams still sleep. Ruined streets, a silent plea, for...

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The moon casts its silver vault over the ruins of modernity, Where the souls of conservatives and progressives meet in an endless dance, Of mistakes and traditions, I find myself carried on the wings of a stream of consciousness, Contemplating the contradictions that define our ephemeral existence. The progressive, with his heart of fire, steps forward, without looking back, Embracing...

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To W.B. Yeats There is something to my life that cannot be described as "lonely". But a forgotten detail in a missing puzzle piece. The secondary woman in the background For she lets the foreground desire shine. The construction of an unfinished building For even the demolished one has an audience. Like an untouched notebook For even the blank page full of ideas...

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My tears dried up when I began to commit sins, In the furnaces of misery, my dreams were consumed. In the darkness of my impure soul, love committed suicide. I look at humanity with the dilated pupils of an undocumented illegal immigrant. I have dark skin like my deported ancestors. In my bruised heart burn...

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In a world bejeweled with tainted trinkets, and feigned flowers, we follow the wailing waves below whirling wind, like secluded silhouettes, stranded on the cusp of chaos, unable to find the sparkling streak of hyacinth hope- between dusk and dawn. Perhaps there is a reason why I stopped rewriting runes with cashmere conclusions, as I’ve long been dreaming of dahlias, on weathered willows, oblivious to the dancing...

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I had a dream of a joyless man, sitting in the ruins of paradise. With flat voice and cold words he told me his tale, While the biting wind swept up flurries of snow ... His was a people that laughed and dreamed. Wrote poems, sang music, and danced in the light. Crafting, artistic, industrious, pure ... kept safe by their warriors like...

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The town, betrayed by time passed, lies forsaken. Lost, lain memories, like tumble weeds, awaken To the prod of windy wisps, and roll willy nilly, Hazardously rendering any hope of revival as silly. Whispers of the past, wind borne, quickly fade, Always out of hearing, always too soft, under the breath, played. But, echoing clearly, that what once was, could never...

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