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 Apr 2020 Shaina Milam
Olive
I've been thinking...
                                wondering...
                                                    ­hoping...
But there is no hope left.
Once, I knew hope,
Like the friend who holds you up
But always falls asleep in the middle of your longest nights.
Those nights with no light at the end of the tunnel.

Yet, there is hope; this is the paradox.
There is hope, but what I need now is not.

Because,
As life works, the right things make themselves known at the wrong times,
And the wrong, destructive things make their way into the most beautiful times.

And now, I should be devoting my time to something worthwhile.
But, I sit, cross-legged on the floor,
My right earphone in my left ear because I need it that way.
I used to hear with both ears, as you do.
Not anymore.

I'm thinking about you.
Wondering and hoping things about you.
I tried to lay down everything for you,
But you didn't know it.
You don't know the sting this leaves in my heart when we talk long into the nights.
Nobody knows the ache I feel when they're all beaming.
I beam too, so that they don't know.
I need it this way.

Maybe I react too easily.
Maybe my heart is too tender.
Maybe, I say, but I know nothing.

Nothing but that this too shall pass.

Above all, there is still
                                       *Hope.
This is for those times you cannot tell anyone anything because everyone thinks they know everything, but what really troubles you is unbeknownst to everyone but yourself. Your only hope is that all this will pass.
 Apr 2020 Shaina Milam
Maria Rose
Perseverance on my tongue,
a silken thought in silver ink
I scrawl strange patterns on the sun
and watch for daybreak to dismiss
the blackboard starlight drips and runs.

Now listless with my aching legs
I’m counting candles, chasing smoke
that filters yellow, drains the dregs
of coffee, cold and drowned of hope.

By tingling error I swallow words,
boredom pervades the bitter night
with a whistle, tuneless, that seems absurd
I empty out my troubled mind
to exhale sadness; curled, entwined -
quite futile, like staring when blind.
old
Her soul is tired now
and all she ever wanted to do was
calming her crowded mind
and resting her heavy heart

Her soul is tired now
and the only path she’d go through
was no longer runaway full of eyes
but an empty and quiet hallways

Her soul is tired now
and the dreams are no longer dreams,
they became possessions and hunger
that consumes her alive

Her soul is tired now
as the passion slowly fades away
and the flame in her eyes began to vanish
can’t you feel the absence of her warmth?

— The End —