Poems, Stories, And Unorganized Messes

I Refuse To Let Go

Let me go she screamed.
Just let her go.
Let all of the platinum of yesterday,
And gold of tomorrow,
All that you can't touch,
And all that you refuse to.
Let the ribbon fall through your finger tips,
Let the light that reflects off the silver hopes and dreams;
Of a cut down, pushed down, pulled down, brought down
Horse stop running.
A work horse who ran through the concrete wall to snatch a sliver of ribbon and platinum,
It then melted from the heat of her stance,
And once cooled created not a medal but a gravestone.
May the dark days, her once only days, live long without the shine of her silver dreams and hopes.
But no, she screamed.
Just let them go,
Not the libraries filled with tragedies,
But the contemplation that the only books written could be tragedies.
But no, her story, though going through a rough chapter with ripped pages,
Is not a tragedy.
It is a pen on paper where the leather bound cover has not yet closed,
Condemning it to finalize.
No, she refused to let go of herself,
To let the ribbon and platinum escape her clutches.
Because the ribbon was soaked in blood and the platinum polished with tears.
And she knew,
That the gold of tomorrow,
Was waiting.