Quiet over ruin

Snow falls soft as forgotten prayers,

on cracked concrete and faded paint.

The green bench, chipped and rusted,

holds winter’s quiet over its scars.

Graffiti blurs beneath white flakes,

words wiped clean but still shouting

in the damp air,

muted beneath streetlamp flickers.

I stop and watch the snow bury

ugly things we pretend aren’t here.

Cold covers, but it can’t erase,

only hush the city’s tired bruises

for a breath or two.