172. Brittle Skeletons

The streets here
were lined with homes
hollow shells
composed of what once was
rather than what should be
built with the hope
that something beautiful
would grow within them.

What beauty there may have been
left long ago
leaving ruins.
Dead flower stems
arching back on themselves
dried with time
like brittle skeletons
hanging in a graveyard
of clay flowerpots.

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