A Poem by Samantha Seto

Past

 

My desk in the corner, back of class,

bookshelves hold sequenced myth

of dust-collected numbers and alphabet.

 

Algorithms explode from walls.

Mindlessly reading our scripts,

lines from Shakespeare bold on the page,

That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her.

 

My heart skips a beat, dares me to rebel:

To ignite life amidst our boredom.

The bell rings and I remain seated,

waiting for awful stillness that remains.

 

Students rush through ancient hallways,

their chaotic voices invade empty classroom.

Window filters sunlight from sky-high.

 

Instead, I bury myself.

whisper, don’t look at me.

Divulge secrets to me,

break through my thick walls.

 

 

Samantha Seto is a writer. She have been published in various anthologies including Ceremony, Soul Fountain, Carcinogenic Poetry, and Black Magnolias Journal. She is a third prize poetry winner of the Whispering Prairie Press contest.