"A Potent Past" by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

When dreams are so rare
to come by in the long
spell of years light shyly
spills into the dark corners
of my potent past and,
on the rock ledge of
yesterday, I longed to romp
like the mind of God, but I
peer at the world from
under a leaf. Around me
twilight keeps growing
tighter, and I live in a world
that doesn’t speak, filled
with all its dead stars,
the silence caving in till
I can hardly breathe, and
night is such a broken
thing, cutting me with
all its glass. My soul is
barely open, and I believe
it must be fate. There,
just there, where the lights
are slightly brighter, I tremble
forward.