“He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his

heels a stone.” (IV.V.XXX)

The warm whisper of a melody winds through the air, escaping like the last embers of

an abandoned fire

From the chilled lips of crippled innocence flows the omen of foretold sleep
Up she goes, wracked with the weight of a sort of neglected recklessness, heavy
To braid-to weave-to intertwine; to speak through those which so romantically offer life

and beseech upon death

Go silently; succumb to the suffocation of the mouth and the suppression of the mind
The ferality of consciousness, the human abyss, danker than the lure of the murky

water Continue reading “Ophelia by Jaylah Easter” →

Every time I walk home from school,
I see that little sprout,
Wondering what the plant would do
If we had an everlasting drought.

I sometimes think I’ve seen it before
In my life or in a dream.
I ask myself if it ever felt lonely
With such a low self-esteem. Continue reading “The Little Sprout by Angela Guzman” →