The Ruins
by Tim Reed
gnarled fingers clutch timeless stones
ashen locks grip bleached bones
pale books of sight grasp broken windows
rubble recalls a distant past
above, the raven's call
below, the dust of nations
with me, thoughts of the ages
what value is in the temporary?
yesterday slips into forever
today joins the Yesterday
tomorrow is as good as past
- this is life in the ruins
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