Ruin

It was called a ruin,
aged, definitely fallen
outside the boundary
lines of structure.
In places the bricks
and rock facade
had turned to powder and
fragmented pieces,
never to be the same,
never to be pieced to
its original integrity.
In corners you could see
signs of what once was life.
Torn fabric deteriorated,
frayed, faded colors,
leaving you to wonder
what color, how long did
it take to become this
massive heap of questions.
A chair with one leg missing,
cracked and splintered glass
holding on to frame, dust laden,
grimy, odorous layers, musty
and stank. Off in the back of
what once housed life,
the outline of a room, small.
A dresser with broken drawers
falling out of the tracks.
I found the page of a child's book,
torn and weathered, with water marks.
In the window a small glass jar
with two marbles and a red button.
Back in what could have
been a closet, I found a tiny doll
made out of thread spools.
Her face was worn to the point
no eyes could be distinguished.
Abandoned and left to allow time
to ravage and destroy, this dwelling,
was all too evident.
To someone this will always be where
they used to, once when and I remember.
I will always wonder if she misses her little doll,
what were those red buttons on and
who she played marbles with.

Raine Les 11/18/2009

Wonderful !!!

Wonderful write!


I have explored a few vacant old farm houses in my time... and you captured that experience perfectly!