Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Is it even real’ and other poems

By: Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Is It Even Real

After Sylvia Plath

Art dies on the page
like everything else.
I do not know magic.
I am not exceptional.
It seems we are all
destined for hell or
heaven. Is it even
real, hell, heaven?
Where we end up,
is there vacation?

The Shadow’s Embrace

Resist the shadow’s
embrace growing
all around you.

It does not feel like
anything. It
seems larger than

life, but is just a
moth sucking all
light out of you.

Taking Friday Off

I came home on a Thursday night
like most Thursdays, thinking of

taking Friday off and the Monday
after the weekend. I came home

with plans to escape from the world
outside, which is often unkind.

If I come to work on Friday, it is only
to give the world a second chance.

Leave a Reply

Related Posts