Nola Perez Poet Bio

Dirge For Antiquity

You become culpable.
You feel you are in a prison
of your own making. 
Cursed familiarity is inescapable,
Capable of ennui only--
You rediscover yourself
around every corner: 
an indelible image of
what you were minutes
ago, aging with the clock's

every tick, the merry music
of chimes, announcing
each solitary hour.  And,
then, there are the ghosts,
shades of those who've
graduated, enshrined in
faux gold or silver,
framed there as no one
may keep their flesh

and blood when vibrant
with life.  You live among
these images which people
your so-called life: the prize
for longevity, the Oscar
for hanging in until you, 
yourself are caught in 
glass, framed and blamed 
for a long life.

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