Haunting me, they are. Their deep, but silent whispers. Their stories, secrets and murders; their tales of misery and joy, their past, present and future. I walk among them, as many did before me, and I envy them, those that saw them while they were complete, marvellous, shiny and new, colourful and young. When they weren’t ruins at all.
Now all there is are crumbled histories, ruins of the olden times, ruins of lives and empires, of men and beasts alike. Their fall tells us about the times long gone, but tells us about our fall to come, as well. Our homes will turn to ruins, and so will our lives and our empires. We will also be shallow graves of ancient times, of riches and emptiness. We will tell stories that no one may be able to understand. Our graves will scream things that people will not hear and our monuments will yell at the world, and the world will only pass them by.
I wish to fall asleep among the ruins, and to wake up to find them whole.
Beautiful lament. I often look to the past and wish for it to be present… there is little magic in today, it is not the same.
Perhaps one day you will find them whole, for they are, somewhere in time…
your thoughts are expressed beautifully, the process is very focused and meaningful and your stance, or vantage point, or direction is, as always, refreshing and unique.