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I think her name resembled all the headlines,
All the stories of the past. They consumed daily media.
It blossomed in the evening, all night long,
And it rose in morning’s past. It was the beauty of our lives.
Her name, I think, was enveloped and placed on a boat,
And then sent across the sea. Lost in the moment of this time,
It is the story of an epic, loving everything that accompanies us.
Heart-filled, caring young girl, don’t get lost in the game.
I cannot say her name, for I would die, but who am I to shame?
If she genuinely does exist, the myths of my own are nothing.
In the future’s time, I’d hate to be her, but at least she tried.
Reading this and not feeling lost is the point of it all.
Such bliss. Such pity is such envy, such wrath, such pain.
What I currently think is momentum is holding you back.
My brown face was laced, and I couldn’t believe we could lose.
Embracing it, relishing it, believing that I’m better than that.
I’m idiotic enough to think that this would all work out.
The man I was that day, I’ll never be again.
I was lost in my world, without much guidance.
So today, the lines are longer, and neither moment
matters to anyone anymore. Perhaps we are lost
in the aisle of desperation, clinging to God’s word,
with the ability to live righteously due to the system
man has made.


For poetry and more, visit Mecella.

by Brandon Mecella Carey Walker

Published on October 29, 2024