The Suicide of the VirginAugust is the cruelest month, breedingCypress on the campus, mixingChange and unfamiliarity, stirringPoison into these drinks.The promise of demise kept my heart warm, coveringSorrow with plastered smiles, feedingAn insightful mind with rotting tubers.Death came quickly, jumping from the highest building.In that soft rain; I came to a halt on the concrete,My memories of you in the sunlight, my last thoughts,And how we sat in the stairwell, for hours talking.Wie werden uns wiedersehen.When I was young, staying with my grandfather,Poor widower, he took me on a walk,and I was happy. He said, Maria,Maria, listen to me. And he told me never to fear death.For it is inevitable, a part of life.I went home and contemplated what it meant to die.Why does this feeling clutch at my heart, why does it growfrom what was once full of love? I am but a daughter of man.And I know not much more than the factthat I am broken, an image of what has been.And death merely gives the
WretchWretched soul, wretched soul.The clock strikes four-but never moves.You look to the window,for the ones you have lost(begging for the pity of your womb).Alone you'll perish;Empty as a dusty cellar.And although the fault lies with only you,it is something you shall never understand.
:R a i n:The rain fell endlessly from the sky, each drop rhythmically hitting the old roof. It was especially audible from the attic in which I sat, watching the rain hit the lake from the singular, cracked window in the dusty room. Slowly, I traced nonsensical figures on the window, using the fog made from my damp breath as a form of paint. Staring at it for a moment, I suddenly became incredibly unhappy at my art and wiped it away with my jacket sleeve.That was when I noticed a figure walking to the lake shore, small from where I sat but seemed like a girl in her late teens. Slowly, ever so slowly, she walked into the water, until she was waist deep. She looked to the sky, her now sopping wet hair sticking to her face. Thinking back, she seemed to gather some form of… Courage from whatever she found in that rainy sky, before she peacefully sank into the water. The villagers didn’t find her until it was much too late.“That’s the fifth one this year,” I murmured
RealityInner conflictsbetween the real and ideal,[lie] with the loss of innocence
HamletIndifference and political corruption,destruction is inevitablein the tragedy of a hero
WinterThese oceans of blood,consuming my soul.Like sheep to the slaughter,fear seeps into my bones.I ponder the meaning of the fewseconds my life isin the wake of these magnificent"gods"butmy pockets are empty and mymind is blank.
GrudgeMonsters crawl from the depthsof my soul.I find my mind cannot take the horrorof years past,while my heart pleads for silence[that I can't find]
A step above the restLook down at me from above(atop that towering plain) -and wonder why all those antsgnaw at you 'till you're falling like awave crashing to the shoreof some long-lost(whoknowswhere)beach, wheremy sun-bleached bones lay upon theashen earth.
Music ReviewIn this installment, Iexamineprominent, prototypical mangling ofechoing acoustics -hugely popular followingreflection of reasonby one ofgenerations past.
PrayerPlace your poemson the lips of angelsso you can teach their wingshow it feels to flyalways upward.Mark the summer eveningssoon to comewith the gracethat carried youamong us,warm and cherished softlyand know we will always placeyour wordsamong the stars.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happyTo leave their home for her newest installation pieceShe cried sometimes for no reason other thanShe felt like having a good cryHer house was covered in her students’ drawingsShe said the best art was produced from innocenceShe went mad once, and painted canvas after canvasIn furious strokes of blackThe soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew oldPeople shook their heads when they saw herAnd whispered “poor dear” under their breathBut she was never poorHer love for everything and everyone never diedIt was swept in all directions like a summer breezeMaking people smile without knowing whyBut the river rocks know
RememberDon't close your heartTo the worldEven if it's cruelDon't see emotionsAs a sign of weaknessNo matter what others sayDon't ignoreThe ones in needHelp them insteadDon't thinkYou have to be toughTo be someoneAnd before you judge othersFor their issues and problemsRememberAlways rememberThe burdened heartsAre the most compassionate ones
growththere is nothing more beautifulthan the softness of a manyou love more thanthe earth(shaking, geode),a face gentle in sleepand ardent in morning;there is nothing more beautifulthan the first breathof your spring,your blooming dawn,the incomingof nothing but you(blossoming, emerging,here,you flourish)—here,you are growingand transforminginto something new,and there is nothingmore beautifulthan that.
Debate"I can't do this."No retreat;No surrender. Broken winner. Claim in your [own] words (weakness of the positive/negative) Questions from the judge(andjury)Closing argument"And the court decides..."