A Question, a Cry

What

is this, this viscous liquid I’m drowning in, something dark and opaque, I cannot breathe—

What is

happening, I cannot see, I cannot hear, it feels so fake yet it’s horrifically real, like a dream from which you woke up screaming but your eyes were never closed—

What is wrong

in the world that it must burn so, so cold, is it so slathered with gasoline that one match will light, explode, have we accepted this, are we okay that this is so—

What is wrong with

the people around me, do they not hear the cries, the screams, the sorry ends and brutal means, the blood and tears, where are the innocent childhood fears, do they not know—

What is wrong with me?

Sunflower

Acer Sacharrum

VT

14 years old

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  • Poetry

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    A Sestina

    Somewhere in the summer sun,

    Where dandelions dance and sing

    Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry,

    Alone, you’ll find me, lying there

    Between the grass seed and maple leaves,

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  • Poetry

    By Acer Sacharrum

    I Stand

    Slowly,

    I stand, 

    simmering in the seraphic summer sun, softly

    stammering silly sayings,

    smiling at the shining sky.


    Solemnly, 

    I sit,

    in the scenes of September, singing

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  • Poetry

    By Acer Sacharrum

    Moving

    I’m moving. 

    I’ve found a little place in the Past, 

    It’s not much but I think it’s quite lovely, very dear, 

    And things aren’t working out Here, 

    So I’m settling for memories. 

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