It lies in the ruins
Gone are the days of glory.
They say, there is no joy to be found
They call it the days of the past.
But the dying embers?
They tell the tale of another life.
Growing, festering
Tethering on to life.
Bereaved of light,
It shouldn't have the lustre
But even with the dark around,
The brightness only shines.
What beauty looks like?
Rising from the ruins
Having lost everything,
With a lot to lose still.
What courage feels like?
Piecing together the fragments
Broken and damaged,
But still so precious.
Rainbows and unicorns;
They pale before
The magnificence that rises
From the ruins.
YOU ARE READING
Pieces Of Me
PoetryTo be rich in words, to let them accumulate and know that you'll never be wanting of anything else. It's a meagre attempt to highlight how much words mean.
