The Poetry of Marco Torres, Class of 2026

It Shall Not Fall

The wind yells it's calamitous. Might yelling at the tree, jealous at such stance, such resilience

You can break all the trees branches and steal the leaves, but

It Shall Not Fall

As we come from such tree of life that even if you try to steal such fruit the rain will come and so will the lightning

So think once, after you make the step, as the rain will flood the ones who wrong it over the time of the clock

The ones who do no wrong will see the colors of the sky as the light shines on the righteous ones

Stay vigorous like the tree as the rain will pass and you will remain

Not be the selfsame tree as before but the seasonal changes make oneself deep-seated then the fire that fuels by malice

May not look or act indistinguishable but you can be a disparate tree

As even in disorder a tree of adaptability can flourish as long as it sees the light that shines so gracefully in front of oneself,...but

Just a crack of the fruit from within sees a glimpse of the great shine of the sun of light can augment the life of tree

So rise above the limit and reach to the sky

Like the tree of life

You Shall Not Fall

The Last Game

Saw your dotish game, and I was wound into your play. Pull the strings, so there!

There, stage done, to fit your fantasy of the performance that would not make your spotlight dim

I switched on all the lights, enough to faint from fever, but you wondered why I strayed

Though I was a blind blind dove who couldn't see your lies

I flew too close to the sky and now I alight

Tumbling to the ground in one's frontal mind

You never gave a tinker's curse about me,

The puppeteer, he didn't want my cavern of emotions or kinzite, rockhard, or in kind

They crave the temple of treasures I hide in my somber soul and decry in plain sight

Only there for the soul, that soul, when I cherish to receive roses of red and white

Wanted a friend, not this miswend

Where he dons the disguise that wasn't made for their lines, now they wonder why I snivel, cry inside

May you never break a leg as the pixies and harpies carve out the rotten fruit on this stage

May you feel the curse of the hurt and swallow all one's lies till you dwindle inside

I shall bestow to you the chrysanthemum from the grave and hope you rot away

If only simulacrum love wasn't painted on your mask and you meant real

Then the story of you and I would be written and end

But the strings are cut and tied

Fortified by lies

Good-bye String Puller, nevermore

Take one last bow, as this will be your last

No one wants a too enamored soul with a mask and nothing inside but sharp glass

As I grow and bloom, take one last bow as this is the last.

Curtain close.

Oh, Algos 

The pomegranate juices flow down my rachis

The mold in this fruit, spreading

Air thinning and your touch becomes frigid but numbing the wounds, they fulminate

I, the time ticking-bomb,

To be drowned by my own tears, my own self to veil in black but clash till we are one in mind

One can't lock out the stains of red from darkness that has been stabbed inside-out

The trail follows you and so do the shadows

"Oh Algos, leave me be."

The void is eating me, and I cant breathe."

Oh Algos, why do I want to go through the soul to reveal the pain of those who spit on me?"

"They mask their bruises and just add blush."