by Samantha (Sam) Dempsey
My world is dark, save the light
that shines ever persistent,
down in the crevices of a
dim civilization. Columns of
hope span the perimeter of a
child's shine, holding a glimmer,
of what historians call a dynasty.
My world is fraughtless, in the
hollows my brother traveled to
meet her, his light. Soothing
braids woven time again by
worried hands, on the dawn of
escapism. Some call it revolution,
I call it childhood.