By Elizabeth Powe

Shoulders like cement.

Legs like quartz.

Thoughts like granite.


The bed’s arms enfold you.

Darkness resonates a silence

Hushing you to sleep.


A lion lurks in the corner,

Roaring warm breaths

Erasing God’s chills

And expelling blankets.



Traffic lights seep in the blinds

Triggering reality like a loaded gun.

Bitterness of coffee traces

Your tongue as you rouse.


Ghosts tug back to the broken desk,

Rifling through pages,

Reading scrawled words.


The gleam from a candle’s wick,

The lone light,

Illuminates the blank walls in shadows.


But your shoulders slump once again.

But your legs ache once again.

But your nightmares drift once again.


Eyelids are weighed down by bricks,

Opening them to gray sheets

Encasing you.


Darkness bewitches as

Tranquility extends.

Slumber is the only solace.

ELIZABETH POWE is from a small town on the east end of Long Island named Greenport. Currently a junior with a history major and English minor at the University at Albany, she aspires to pursue her education to law school to become a heath law attorney. She dedicates her love of writing poetry and short stories to her family who have always encouraged her to follow her passions.