by Giovanni Jimenez-Luna, 13
In shadows, I linger, a ghost of the past,
A specter of chaos, where light cannot last.
Never once human, just simply not there—
My sanity deteriorates, this burden I bear.
This world I despise,
Where bloodshed is solace, the only prize.
Then, BAM! The lights dim, shadows creep—
More than a whisper, in darkness I seep.
Fading from sight,
A wrapped gift emerges from the endless night.
In darkest depths, where my shadow entwined,
Evil flourishes here, and wickedness is defined.
I cast a shadow on those I encounter, I ruin and I tarnish,
Over the years, I spread darkness to the ones I control.
Yet slowly, I begin to awaken—this gift feels like a curse,
A constant reminder of a future that holds even worse.
No sleep can stir this soul I mourn,
No thirst to quench me, just a vow I’ve worn.
Whispers echo like chains forged in pain,
A hollow existence, with nothing to gain.
I ache for redemption, a heart torn asunder,
Yet the ghosts of my past conspire to plunder.
Trapped in this cycle, longing for freedom,
My happy ending—a spirit confined,
Lost in silence, eternity binds.
Silence wraps around me, and my sin is laid bare,
Each moment a whisper, wicked schemes in the air.
I wrestle with shadows, confronting my fear,
In the depths of this struggle, I know death’s not near.
For I despise this life, yet with myself I grieve.
So here I remain, fragmented, lost,
A ghost of a dreamscape—forever the cost,
To exist in this silence, a fate I deride,
Lost in my darkness—a spirit denied.
My punishment eludes me,
Growing no wiser in this life,
Rambles for knowledge, but shadows echo,
Teasing my resolve like a sharpened knife.
Yet through the darkness, I’ll seek the light,
Determined to uncover the truth and end this strife.
But no hero can save me anymore.
The weight of silence heavy on my chest,
In the quest for answers, I am not at rest.
But even in the void, I’ll sow the seeds,
Nurturing hope that in my heart still bleeds.
With every challenge, I will rise again,
A tempest is fierce, brewing in the rain.
For in this struggle, strength begins to bloom,
I will, in the end, escape my tomb.
Red Bank, New Jersey
Reader’s note: This poem does a great job of pulling the reader into the speaker’s internal struggle with strong imagery and a rhythm that keeps the emotions flowing. The contrast between darkness and the hope of redemption makes it very compelling.
Bridge Ink 