FOR THE ONES LEFT IN THE RUINS

> FOR THE ONES LEFT IN THE RUINS

When the city broke,

it did not ask who you were.

Stone fell without memory.

Fire moved without preference.

And you—

you were left where the world had given way.

Not carried out in triumph,

not named among the restored,

but standing—

or barely standing—

among what remained.

The ruins became your address.

The silence became your witness.

You learned the language of loss

without choosing to speak it.

You carried what could not be rebuilt

within the fragile frame of your own life.

Some passed by

and saw only what was gone.

But you—

you became what endured.

Not because the world was kind,

but because something within you refused to disappear.

You are the ones history almost forgets—

the ones who stayed when the moment moved on,

the ones who bore the weight

after the fire lost its name.

And still—

your presence remains,

like a quiet truth

the city cannot silence:

That what is left behind

is not without worth.

That what is broken

is not beyond dignity.

That what endures in the ruins

may yet become

the foundation

of mercy. 

 (Mt. 5:7)

Steven G. Lee 

San Francisco, California

April 17, 2026