The Ruin

Stone grey, ruins below, the sky above.

The same substance, the same timeless wonder.

Cloud reaches downward, nesting like the dove

That claps its wings in the highest tower.

Bare bones, the stones pointing towards heaven.

In death, perfection unfulfilled in life.

It leaves this world to be built in the next,

Mundane sin shed, restored with divine light.

An outline filled with the soul’s remembering,

An echo of a song from herebefore.

The shadow cast by a place eternal;

A spire on top of a heavenly tor.

The dove glides down to its great hall to feast,

Pecking like time where life has long ceased.