January

Are you far removed from it now?
Did black Lethe take 
Your memory? 

Is it now all as though it 
Were a dream? 
Only a passing phantasm of 
Highest horror, reaching 

Into the inner most mind, 
Stinging youth’s flesh 
With the tears of first grief. 

I wish I could somehow divine 
which it is, 
Undying memorial or the 
Void of the forgotten? 

But I haven’t seen your eyes or 
Heard your mouth speak 
Since this new epoch dawned 

Upon us in the innocence of winter. 
This epoch, we have as yet 
Only tasted it’s great bitter, 
Early terror, so I must now ask; 

Is the first taste telling of 
The final meal that shall pass 
Our lips like Socrates’ last drink, 

The wine brewed of that 
Deadly plant’s leaves of 
Sleep; forever and 
Final.

-- Anne S., 9th-12th Grade