I am not a child of midnight.
I have heard the mermaids singing eachtoeach
What restless words invade my soul,
What fire is it that burns my eyes?
When I dream it is of a moon,
It is always of the moon,
By a fog, by a veil
My world is balanced by a tail
My existence is fleeting and bleating and frail.
I do not hear the words that I read,
Against the hollowness of my empty self.
The children of midnight are doomed
But at least they didn’t know.
Or did they?
I am no beacon, no pillar, no rock upon which to build a church.
I am none of the people I have read,
And I am all of them.
Oh to be known—
To be heard.
To be more than the echo of a
And don’t you know:
Echoes are reflections of sound,
The younger siblings,
Forgotten and swallowed
By an impenetrable silence.
-Kaitlyn Medina [11/18/10]