Image by Sean McCormick

This is what is left—

sky of blue

scattered, bitter clouds.

Mired, crumbled around my home.

What is left?

Vibrant colors not seen.

Falling down as ever was.

Window of soul battered

too deeply, repeatedly.

What is left among the ruins?

I am. I am left.

In that there is hope

among desolation’s overwhelming grief.

There is hope among the rubble.

Renewal comes in rebuilding.

Rebuild ruins of life—



Submitted as part of One Stop Poetry’s Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge