Eight-line Poems

Ruin

Ruin

Though I know that England’s empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty streets too dead for dreaming
Mr. Tambourine Man, Bob Dylan

The map’s brave red leached by the sun
Dyed a million colours by the rain
The memories come home to roost
Graffiti drawn by fingers on the pane

So the evening’s shadows soundless fall
The stones of yesterday reduced to dust
No more the faint lullaby of bugles call
Our edifice alone and dreaming rusts.


Line count: 8
Rhymed abcb
For Express It In Eight, 09.22.23
Prompt: Write a poem about ruins.