Inside Out

Part of me dies
each time I pass–
each time the last–
through their cold doors.

In one direction
when all is well
euphoria, completion, full bloom, air–
a heaven become dearth, overthrown by hell.

Unbeknownst to me
a changing of heart;
for them a fresh start
me, catastrophe.

Now glaring backward
at my own plight
through blackened, crimson glass–pain–
the unfortunate hue of hindsight.

Then gazing forward
with blinded sight
through a smoked, rosy glass pane
the unforgettable blue twilight.

Part of me lives–
each time I cope
each time I hope–
for another…

Edmund Ho, Chicago, Class of 2005