Gone, Gone.

Matthew Boyle, Staff Writer


Gone just like that; dust in the wind,

No more alive than those scraps in your bin.

The bin in which all things go in the winter (when things begin to frost),

We strain to remember the things long ago that we’ve lost.


Gone just like that; the clocks can’t be right,

You did your damn best!

You put up a fight, turned on all the lights, helped friends with their plights, negated deep rooted frights, made it through the nights (those long, sleepless ones).

And yet 


You’re gone, just like that. 


* Illustration by Allison Contreras