I glared at the glowing apple,
The altar of her white chapel.
I remember how I loathed the bite
That had been taken from the side …
Now, I see the bitter irony
In the apple’s loss and felony.
Her mind only had time for i’s,
I couldn’t see how those eyes cried.
Behind the ghostly light on her face,
The blood was stopped and tears displaced.
Her only movement had been to type
A face with a frown she couldn’t wipe.
So strange this vista between us,
The duality of the distance:
I watch her disappear behind
As she gazes into it, blind.
She thinks she feels a face and heart,
Yet she is an island apart.
Her hands were tucked away, but I knew
What fleshly scores of pain she’d come to.
Do they realize they are killers?
Do their words still further chill her?
They have partaken of the fruit;
Adams and Eves, they all are mute.
Perhaps the fault is not with them
Perhaps they are not to be condemned.
Perhaps the evil is that light
Which shines on their tears in the night.
Such a mighty blow from light so small-
A light that makes ghosts of them all.
NOTE: While this poem does not depict my own experience, it is inspired by others’ experiences, particularly the unbearably large number of students who committed suicide during my time in high school due to bullying. This is meant to pay those students homage, even if only to warn others of the trap that consumed them.