I am a temple.
One with cracked walls,
ivy bleeding down the broken outsides
and choking the stonework
of the building's defences.
No shrine in this place,
no flowers to light the space
but for weeds shooting
through the broken floors.
The fourth wall has fallen
leaving it open to the elements;
wind-battered and rain-soaked
acidity wears away the stones.
The eaves groan as
the shattered roof strives
to keep its innards
warm and dry for the
lost souls it shelters even
at the detriment to its own.
This is my home.
I am a temple,
and it's in ruins.
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories & Poetry
PuisiA collection of my poems and short stories. I write and publish them spontaneously- whenever the inspiration hits!
