Silas's Red

He stood beside my desk, a giant

In tweed, his glasses thick and low.

My poem, a fragile, hesitant

Thing, he made me watch it go.

The red pen bled through fragile lines,

A spiderweb of brutal ink.

He circled verbs, he drew designs

Of failure, made my spirit shrink.

I saw it happen yesterday,

A flicker in a young man's eye

When I almost said, 'That's not okay,'

And caught myself with a choked cry.

That same red ghost, it followed me,

Across the years, a harsh decree.