2014 -- 7.1 (Fall) Poetry


By: Monica I Castro


Sing me a song of silver let

It flow gracefully in the wind

A thousand pent up memories

Like penchants strung on a whim


Whispers ripple through each moment

Cool rings that burn leaving no trace

True fire need not mark each sin


Executer, please, you need not linger still


Remembrance pierces the dark, forcing me to stumble

A rage it wields like daggers, a fury forged from spite

It saps my strength, binds my will, and

Pries all but misery from my trembling hands


Every moment is a battle, each breath a gasp

Time was once my battle ground and

Yet now it is my prison

There is no home left to bargain

True hope can only come from within

So take this empty shadow, its strength so paper thin

Forgive this ghost that echoes

And let my slate be wiped clean