I walk among crumbling ruins
oblivious to their pain.
I touch dusty walls
with trembling fingers
a feeling that has no name.
Had there been feasts, here?
Banquets and dances?
The phantom participants
twirling up eddies
in the clouds of romance.
Thick-gloved hands
sift grey ashes
valuate frozen stone
salvage what comes.
I breathe into my helmet
leave my footprints in the dust.
First draft: 140531
Published: 231125