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 |  Entries to Express It In Eight from September 2020 to the present . |
| The number of poems enforces the use of blog format with ten poems per page. |
| 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. |
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