Shadows of Indifference
A night, midnight blue, one with no stars
An eye peering through the opening, clouds reflected in gaze
And blank stares, pearly white- drenched in tears
The pendulum’s swinging, completing its endless cycle
Hushed whispers ripple the surface, then back again
An unfathomable abyss and death’s glare upon us with wings of black silk shadowing
A mirror with many faces, broken shards blemishing beauty
A girl, no two. Nameless, shamelessly looking. Dreaming-
As the sweet, soul sucking vortex redeems her again
Walls encroach upon the silent dreamer as she remembers
Transparent glass walls that cuts us with its sharp frame and protects-
Unshackled but made captive, the dragon’s strength wanes from toil- where did dragon from
As two wrongs aren’t made right with Chaos king and darkness spilling
It isn’t tempest from which I hide, or fire that chars my flesh
Nor is it chilled autumn morns, or even emotion in flashing thunder and wet torrents
Or love or hate, illusions conceived by the human mind
No, it’s indifference, rather ignorance in all its selfish forms
Colorless with grey hued skies and shapeless mist delusions to cold eyes; tasteless
Silent as despair, undiscerning as the raven veers towards temporary paradise
Poison dripping from the black tongue that blots and burns
For the fair rose with its delicate shades of pink-
Is nothing but deceit.
EMPTY PROMISES
Moonbeams illuminate the cedar wood floors of the tiny antique shop,
The only source of light in the darkest hour of the night,
When dreamers dream, with only the bitter cold seeping into fatigued bones….
Until the horizon turns orange and gold, and the moon hides its face yet again.
A small girl with red cheeks and raven black hair opens the door,
Holding the weathered hand of father, their breaths forming fog in the wintry air,
For in the depths of the tiny shop lay a lone black violin case,
Out of place like a brick among colorful feathers in stark contrast.
Once, it was apprized by many, carefully handcrafted with the utmost love and care,
And not a speck of dust dared touch its polished varnish then.
Its warm, rich melodies had sung in many acclaimed concert halls,
Its timeless, haunting beauty connecting the souls of strangers for that one moment,
Allowing breaths to catch and tears to inevitably fall, fulfilling its selfless promise.
Now, after many long years trapped in the steady undulation of the glorious past,
The violin had forgotten its promise, its concert days only a fading dream of youth.
And the small desperate flicker of hope had simmered to a dying flame in its fragile shell,
Until the girl with the raven black hair, straight like the definition, became its owner.
Yes, I bought the violin that day, For it was a joyous freedom for the girl and the violin
With its warm, rich melodies still ringing in acclaimed concert halls,
Its timeless, haunting beauty connecting the souls of strangers for that one moment,
Allowing breaths to catch and tears to inevitably fall, fulfilling its selfless promise.
Jacqueline Wu (16) is a writer and artist from Long Island, New York. She is a writer and editor for her acclaimed school magazine, Cinnabar. She has also won several writing and art competitions and awards, such as the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. She is forthcoming in Teenmind, ReadThis, and other magazines. Jacqueline enjoys painting, drawing, writing, and playing the viola, and she hopes to continue to inspire and empower through her words.