BY DR. AGONSON
Into the pool I cast my sharpened blade,
and standing in the mire, epicenter
of a thousand little ripple-ing waves,
stabs it the chest of my true tormentor,
a deadly prick through the reflection’s heart.
Who would a careless toss count suicide?
and yet the throw was of a lethal dart.
It’s here I’ll let my past and knife reside,
it nevermore to live within my soul.
I can’t discern this silent, twilit hour,
whether new day, or is it night’s dread pull,
which locks the sun in its eternal pow’r.
The past is gone. No time to morn shadows.
What’s happening, I suppose no one knows.