Poetry

      she doesn’t        exist but as

a small dream sinking through me

that the night is quiet endlessness;

Why does your soul cry

When your eyes meet mine?

Why does your smile fade

When my voice cascades?

How do you flow 

Through the crowd?

How do you speak

Through your tears?

every night i lie in Bed

and wonder what you Think about -

am i the Dream that’s in your head

or are you fast asleep?

There was this girl

With eyes the color

Of the sky that fills

Your childhood memories

She had dirty blond hair

Always in a braid

A braid that held more flowers

Then cherry blossom trees

Part One: “Of the People”

Let a symphony of voices form a cacophony so loud

God themselves won’t be able to ignore our 

grief, our

sorrow; the shattered fragments of our hearts

Stuck in my head

The lyrics go round and round.

Unstoppable, insurmountable

A cacophony of sound.

They won’t go away

And with each repitition

I can feel my brain exploding

Like nuclear fission.

Nighttime hits like a truck. Sleep is far from your grasp, and the skin under your eyes wilt.

Nearly 5.2 billion people use the internet daily, whether for work, school, communication, or entertainment. 

We were isolated; quarantined. The social strain was… immeasurable.

Midwestern night.

There’s something out in the fields,

Something banging on the roof.

Fresh vomit in the toilet.

The sink is running, so you can’t

Hear your own heavy breathing.

Her name was Luna,

which means moon in Latin,

every day, Luna would

look outside for the moon,

but every day she would,

come inside disappointed,

her mom always asked

"What's wrong?"

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The ground

Beneath us

Trembles in fear

The future is

Dark

The ending is

Near

The trees

Around us

Shrivel in fright

They cannot

Stand