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No Peace, No Solace

I wish I could’ve whispered 
To my young and clueless self 
That this boy lives on a timer 
This boy really needs help 

It was already written down
By nature’s cruel hand 
It was craved into the stars 
He’ll try, but won’t withstand    

One day I was in English class
I got a breaking message 
I cried and screamed and cried aghast
And felt myself start retching 

I clearly see, hung by the neck 
Can clearly see his eye
Where before, a-light a-spec
Now gloss reflects the sky  

The memories I try to keep 
Are jumbled out of order 
It’s been eight years, yet I still weep
From words he said, so morbid 

It’s not our fault, it couldn’t be
We’re not psychics, not prophets
But I was part of that same guilt
Gave him no peace, no solace

Copyright © March Archer | Year Posted 2025

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Date: 6/30/2025 1:31:00 PM

Never underestimate who or what you will become. Poets may indeed be prophets in waiting.

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Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry