The Ruin

Remorseless sun     stunts the dew

Glistening towers     of tainted glass
ignite and blister     in blood-yellow light
recalling the tallest     of crumbling tombs
as humbler graves     harbor their dead
in the clutches of earth     and callous night

The past is draining     through inhuman dreams
no people are packing     backrooms and bars
no pride or empire     rises on ruins
no glance at a face     gleans what is fair

Everyone senses     evil has come

The world we knew     will not be renewed
and gods of technology     are graceless and numb

We call for a hero     but just hear recordings  

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

Letters

As a Protestant, I began ­Valerie Stivers’s “How I Learned to Love Confession” (November 2025) mentally recalling…

In Praise of Translation

Erik Varden

This essay was delivered as the 38th Annual Erasmus Lecture. The circumstances of my life have been…

Caravaggio and Us

Jaspreet Singh Boparai

Nicolas Poussin, the greatest French artist of the seventeenth century, once said that Caravaggio had come into…