Young Writers Society

Eloping looked so fine,
even from so far, far away.
Eleven times we tried,
engaging all our friends in talk
ending in tragedy,
everyone knew he left me
eating cake by the road,
evening dress slipping from the shoulder;
embodiment of dejection.

Finally, I get to
fall into the mattress,
firm yet comforting as I
fail to chase the dreams of those who
fled this world in blazing
fire and cried for us to
fill the void.

Going backwards in my thoughts I
give a salute to those who
got me where I am and even
glittering as I am with tears, I
graciously denounce my triumphs to the
glories of my peers.
Gems as they are, they
generated who I was to become even as I
gravitated from their
gluttonous
glory.

How do shadows write their stories in such
hallow places?
Having only secrets left to keep.