Ruins

Your face is shattered,
broken,
an ancient ruin,
showing each battle fought,
each heart scarred,
and yet,
the beauty remains,
and somehow,
though you are less,
you are more.

About this Poem

Very often we think we are somehow less for all we have lost in life. But I don’t think that is true. I think, we become more precious, survivors, like ancient ruins, have an enduring value.

The picture is part of what was once part of a Hindu temple, a head of a lion. Lifesized and broken, it still carried character and beauty. I stood there a long time, just wondering what it had seen.

Tom