by Maddie Merritt ’16

A knock.

Who’s there?

Conscience.

What does it want?

Who knows.

It’s calling out your name,

But it speaks in foreign tongues;

A song unsung.

Like the bitter taste of butter

Conscience oozes into your lungs.

The tiny voice inside your head,

Gently knocking.

“Let me in,” it says.

The question is.

Will you let it?