Castle of bone on
bone, mortared by
flesh, sinewed like
stone in ivy’s grip.
Too soon our walls
fail, crumble in stiff
betrayal.  Steps to
over here or there,
a marathon.  Abler
are intentions than
deeds. Whatever it
was that didn’t get
done has no future.
Turn from who you
were. She long ago
left with her lipstick
case.  This trembler
took her chair. She
frets about the door
being locked, if her
mailman is on time.
All structure comes
to ruin, even turrets
gargoyled in youth.


Forum Comments:My Finest Ruin
Image Credit:Arman Dz.
Desiree Wright is an English teacher who lives with her husband in rural Arkansas. She has been writing poetry as a hobby for many years.

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