The Cry

We live in a fruitless world,

Where the trees refuse to grow.

Dry fields you cannot see,

Where seeds in vain are thrown.

Blood flows deep into the ground,

Leaving stains no one can clean.

Words come from our mouths like stones,

But they’re tossed back to the sea.

Broken bodies must stand alone,

Hands pushed back when out to reach.

My poor voice is lost around the world,

There is no one left to teach.

Natalie Gorna

A new poem


I try to find myself

but I lose

I try to hide myself

but I bruise

So easily, so easily

after you

Romance is dead

but I’m alive

I look around

without a glance

Oh yes, I try to go through

But I lose

and I bruise

so easily after you

I read the pages of yesterday

and long to relive my memories

What should I do?

I’m still not free of you.

Natalie Gorna

Ode to Latin

O tongue of the ancients’ fire,

You live in God’s Church alone.

Romance languages you have sired,

But you are buried under stone!

In my heart you will live forever on,

But what about my fellow brothers?

In mine you’re praised and growing strong,

But how is it in others?

Christ will give you back your strength,

So you may open the locked door.

For to God this glory will have no length,

Though many say Latin’s future is no more.

I pray that you shall live through me,

So you may flourish like a tree!

Natalie Gorna