megan-cahillWhisper

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GuiltyAt daybreak, the messenger was killed by my hand; / I grasped and cleaved the life where it once grew, / Claiming it selfishly for my own eyes to view.

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The MatadorHer hands are rusty as she grasps the sheet; / A forbidden silk engulfed in deepened red. / Too weak to scream but strong enough to

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In the Blink of an EyeClose my eyes too tightly, / Like an / Overcautious man

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TrespasserHe showed himself today; / A trespasser on the land where leaves reign. / The morning sun proved his Achilles heel,

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BoundFrom oil ridden eyes fall soft, polluted tears. / A small fawn weeps for a mother but Mother never hears. / The forest wilts and the core of the apple disintegrates,

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