Metamorphosis 2014

Metamorphosis 2014 Cover Art by Alejandra Corominas

Staff

Editors-In-Chief Samuel Drucker & Madison Herin

Managing editors Karena Halvorssen & Jarryd Rauch

Design Editors Valeria Balza, Joseph May, Jake Nachlas

& Roshni Singh

Copy Editors Divya Bhansali & Lindsay Sack

Layout Editor Alina Edep

Art editor Addison Donaher

Editorial Staff Jillian Castoro, Megan Eisenfelder,

Jessica Frankel, Mitchell Freidman,

Michelle Pendergast, Ruchika Sharma

& Lauren Valad

fACULTY aDVISOR Tina Jaramillo

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I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.

-Lewis Carroll

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Table of contents

Writing Art

10 Claudia Malone Untitled

Metamorphosis Rachel Horowitz 11

The hAIKU hODGEPODGE Troy Gonzalez 12

13 Karena Halvorssen Channeling Mr. Wilde

RULER OF THE SEA Anonymous 14

15 Matthew Cohen FLORIDA KEYS DEEP SEA FISHING

RECOVERY Ricardo Bazo 16

17 Lindsey Swartz UNTITLED

18 Roshni Singh SPRAYPAINT

18 Taylor Bogdan Untitled

SNOWFLAKE Casey Dresbach 19

CONCERTO IN B-FLAT MINOR Ryann Clarke 20

21 Stephanie Fernandez-Guckes UNTITLED

THE SAVIOR Anonymous 22

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23 Isabelle Lumb TOOTHPICK PYRAMID

THE DRUID’S FINAL BATTLE Anonymous 24

26 SPACE CAT Rachel Mondshine

THE WINDOWS OF THE SOUL Tatiana Kovalsky 27

27 Amanda Soares UNTITLED

SOLDIER Anthony Alfonso 28

29 Roshni Singh UNTITLED

CLOSE YOUR DOORs Hunter Angelo 30

31 Lucas Bjelos UNTITLED

MACBETH GHOST SCENE 5.5 Alexis Kesselman 32

AFTER MORTALITY Anonymous 36

36 Anonymous KikO

CORPUS DELICTI Imani Cooper-Williams 37

38 Isabelle Lumb METAL OCTOPUS

A DIFFERENT SONG Brooke Olefson 39

ENIGMA Anonymous 40

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41 Jake Nachlas UNTITLED

tHE nAIL police Brittyn Bonham 42

44 Kyle Israel A STUDENT’S METAMORPHOSIS

It’s a crime to hide the beauty Angela Cureton 46

47 Lisa Zheutlin untitled

the lemon Alexis Chestnov 48

49 Alec Bloch Untitled

50 Austin Lubetkin Untitled

dONE Angela Cureton 51

52 Le Martin Founder’s Council Award

wE ARE INEVITABLE Alana Udwin 66

67 Junjie Zhao nOSTALGIA

The Morning shore Christopher Matthews 68

We kissed at red lights Anonymous 68

69 Addison Donaher Untitled

69 Leslie Siegel Past vs. present

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farewell, farewell Matthew Merrigan 70

71 Jenna Wittich Untitled

What is love? Deepti Sailappan 72

73 Lucas Bjelos Untitled

Before the turn of the tide Ryan Englehardt 74

75 Junjie Zhao Change imminent

Undone Madison Herin 76

76 Alana Steinberg Bones

Demons Anonymous 77

77 Claudia Malone Voodoo Child

Above it all Megan Eisenfelder 78

79 Catherine Lott cloud nine

Winter wonderland Nicole Maharaj 80

81 Katherine Jovanovic untitled

Fleeting Perpetuity Brianna Bruny 82

The terrible, Tarnishing treatmentAnonymous 83

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84 Karena Halvorssen Pillars

gray Lauren Valad 85

89 Arix-Yani Fabre Metanoia

Heartbeats Anonymous 90

90 Samantha Breakstone UNTITLED

91 Leslie Siegel Untitled

Song of a boy Katia Mignocchi 92

94 Anonymous Cradle to grave

A DREAM OF THOUGHT China Copperstone 95

97 Lindsay Siegel Catcher of my dreams

This is my letter to the agony Anonymous 98

99 Samantha Baizan scribble drawing

100 Austin Lubetkin Untitled

Restless Madison Noonan 101

The wandering road Brittany Hammel 102

103 Jake Nachlas UNTITLED

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Fifty-two Elizabeth Feldman 104

105 Deepti Sailappan Untitled

the race Joao Pereira 106

107 Kendal Killermann Old pine crest trophies

the Ever-Flowing River Tyler Shevin 108

109 Karena Halvorssen CALLIGRAMME

Castle Rock Megan Eisenfelder 110

Song of dawn Brittyn Bonham 111

113 Alina Carey self portrait

The drive Anonymous 114

114 Emily Williams UNTITLED

once upon a time Skenda Jean-Charles 115

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Claudia Malone

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Every mind, every soul, and every heart,Is transmogrified as life passes by each day.Each day we are transformed and transmuted,As we undergo metamorphosis.

Entering this world, entering this mystery, entering this phenomena,We are unsure, we are vulnerable, and we are impatient,As we wait for our transformation to begin,From the innocent youth, to the obstinate adolescence, into confident adulthood.

Throughout our transformations, tough times are placed on our trails,But lessons we learn through these hardships,Are what allow us to grow and prosper,As we undergo metamorphosis.

On our adventures from birth to death, Emotions have a tendency to overpower the act of living. Living a full and satisfying life,And accepting what the future will bring.

Celebrate the youth, celebrate the adolescence, and celebrate the adulthood.This life is the only one that we all will ever lead.Accept the changes that await you on your journey,Your journey of metamorphosis.

MetamorphosisRachel Horowitz

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1. MathematicsAlgebra and on,Numbers going out of styleIt’s easy to miss.

2. Sadie HawkinsWhere the girls ask guys,Yet I somehow get left out.What the hell is this?

3. The College ProcessTime to send my scores?Oh look, the CommonApp glitched.Just another day.

4. SeniorsThe class of ‘14Loud and proud, we stride these hallsDon’t get in our way.

5. SmartphonesPotential resource,But mostly used as time-sinkLet’s play Candy Crush.

6. RunningThe speed is the keySpeedsters survive, but the slow:Their legs turn to mush.

Troy GonzalezThe Haiku Hodgepodge

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7. Standardized TestsA, B, C, D, EThis will decide your future. Why so somber, friend?

8. High SchoolNine, ten, elevenWalk across the stage as “12”It is a happy end.

Karena Halvorssen

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As the storm came upon the sea,The sea rising in acrimony while the waves steadily matured, The nauseated fishermen threw themselves over the gunwale,Trying to keep their equity and conscious.

I gazed upon them, mocking their ignorance and vulnerability.I am the sea and the waves.I am all the fish in these stirred waters,I am that terrifying monster that is believed to live in the nether most crevices of this ocean,I am Poseidon,No, I am like Jesus and Poseidon is my Apostle.

While these men are on their last limb,Trying to catch food for their family,I mock’d them, oh, how cruel of me.These puny little creatures are no match for this evil sea.I look’d upon my evil humor and decided to recuperate for my malicious deed.

All of a sudden, sunshine shimmered out from the clouds, The rolling sea suddenly became flat, The storm seem’d to have disappeared,And the fishermen who seem’d to never have caught anything,Have filled their boats with as many fish as could possibly hold.I wonder who could have done that?This evil creature is not as evil as he seems to the world to be,But it appears this creature has a heart full of sympathy under its hard shell.

AnonymousRuler of the Sea

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Matthew Cohen

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He couldn’t recall a single moment in his life where he’d felt this defeated. Where he felt so much like a failure; the scrawny runt in a pack of wolves, the one that tried but didn’t have what it takes to succeed. He’d lost his chance, and he was positive he’d never get another. She was off with him now. Him of all people. That indi-vidual, that perfect individual. That perfect individual that he knew he couldn’t be. And that perfect individual. How he looked so smug, so arrogant with her under his arm; walking off into the sunset. But, with a hero’s happy ending is a villain’s brutal downfall. Only he’d done nothing wrong, nothing evil. He just fell short. He came in second place. And nobody ever pays attention to second place. In a race where there is only one victor, the loser faces shame and sad-ness; his trophy is a broken heart and his medals ripped love notes. And how they would tell him to get up. His friends, they’d tell him to stand tall. But they didn’t realize that when he took the fall, he broke his legs. And standing on broken legs hurts. Especially when the gauze and plaster that had held him together was now the thing that was tearing him apart. Her. And she was perfect. He always loved her. He knew he did. It was the only sure thing in the universe to him. The sun would rise, the seas would swell, the grass would grow, and he would always love her. She was eccentric, cynical, intellectual, radiant, marvelous; he had a dictionary of words to describe her. And she had faults, oh how she had faults. She had enough blemishes and flaws to build a house with. But it would be his house. Their house. And he’d tried. Oh, lord, how he tried to make her see him as some-thing more. He took her out every week. They talked.

RecoveryRicardo Bazo

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He was her confider, the person she could tell anything to. The wall she could lean on, the pillow she could cry into, and the band aid that could make it all feel better. That was him. He was her rock, and she was his hard place; always standing up for each other. Just them against the world. But now it wasn’t. His rock was just sand now; withered by grief and hopelessness. But he knew. He knew that, as perfect as she was and as terrible as he felt, the sand always meets the sea. And there are plenty of fish in the sea.

All he needs to do is dive in.

Lindsey Swartz

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Roshni Singh

Taylor Bogdan

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From fairest souls we desire an eclipse,That thereby transcends an exclusiveness.But the hindrance of acquiescence tricks,His innocent persona of decisiveness.

But thou, contracted to the public eyeFeeds an inner flame of a desire.A craving for distinction will never die:Conformity adjourns a jaunt out of mire.

Thyself thy foe, to thy coy self is insulting,So he shall determine a trump from fake.Individuality resemblingA stumble upon a single snowflake;

The chilling wrath of a conformityLeads to an unwarranted existence.

SnowflakeCasey Dresbach

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Everyday my papa gets his afternoon delightWhen we sit down to play our concerto.As they say, practice makes perfect.

The piece starts off with a smooth F, like a glistening swan floating along the lake,A sitting duck in an innocent world,His fingers barely grazing the unscathed surface of the beautiful beingThen, continuous clusters of sixteenth notes start to shoot off of the page; little beats pounding against the smooth surface of the keys.

The melody tends to change key during the first movement however, as the strings shudder from the pungent odors of whiskey and desire,Each disheveled new note stumbles upon on another, scratching away the resonance from every blow.Once we reach this key change, there is no going back.

I try to keep up with Papa, but he is too advanced for my amateur level.The second movement picks up in an accelerando.Multiple blasts go to the graying white keys, which will become so gray that they will join the already blackened keys above.

Missed notes end in the terrible shriek from the board; cries of no escape.Papa plays three quarter notes with a sharp, short staccato, making the piece seem like it is almost over.

Concerto in B-flat MinorRyann Clarke

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But this is only the beginning. The final movement of the concerto weeps a lonesome longing for finish,But Papa always says he must end with a bang.His favorite trick is the violent col pugno, which makes the cast iron plate cry tears of red onto the ivory keys.

My fingers are too weak to play anymore.The piece has taken my breath away, and yet,I know Papa will never stop playing his unknown passion,For he will always keep playing his sweet concerto.

As will I, until every key on the piano is broken, And it ceases to play any more music.

Stephanie Fernandez-Guckes

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He saved us all, The walls were caving in, The smoke was all around, suffocating.

The heat was intense; I could only last a moment more;Looking for my escape, I saw him.

He motioned, I couldn’t decipher what he said, Confused, I dropped to the ground, almost unconscious, I felt pain, burning, intense, scorching pain, I couldn’t get up, the walls were spinning.

Reaching out for something I couldn’t grab,Concentrating on breathing through the thick, dense smoke,Hoping this wouldn’t be the end of my limited life, I laid still, trying to avoid being engulfed by flames.

My brother, suffocating from the smoke, trying to reach the window,My mother, close behind, gasping for air, My father, looking for me, too dazed to see clearly.

Then he came, He scooped me up, holding me by the arms, looking for my family, Then he went, He called for others to come help bring my family out.

He saved us all from the burning house, He saved us all from the compiling smoke, He saved us all from a very close death, He saved us all.

The SaviorAnonymous

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Isabelle Lumb

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The Druid’s Final BattleAnonymous

Dark clouds loomed over the town,Spreading evil all around.Evil you could feel deep in your bones,Evil that moaned and groaned,Evil that attacked when you were alone.A usually quiet community settled on the coast,Each and every evening evil entered the edificesOf wary and guarded villagers: no recklessness.Now haunted by some strange ghosts.Men, women, children slaughtered,A portal to another world opened,A travel gate that needed to be barred.Nobody spared.Daemons poured through from this unknown place,Ghastly, inhuman, dripping blood with each step they take.Only a strong druid would have the powerTo fight these monsters and close the travel gate,But in an isolated town, daemons may devourNo end in sight, piles of bodies amassed.All who cross their path.No help from the outside, only braveAnd foolish men fighting to their grave.As months passed, daemons swarmed,One daemon for ten humans,Gone in the dead of night.

A mysterious man no one recognizedAppeared in town on a cold, foggy day.Young, but an aura of experience, hardened eyes,And announced his purpose without delay.“I am a druid, a magic summoner, a friend.We will destroy all evil beings on sight,Twenty five men, solemn, mournful, strong, determined,

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Soon everyone will be dead,No survivors, only an ocean of red.The window must be closedAnd the daemons disposed.Follow me to the tunnel, to fightGather your weapons,We leave tonight!”Said their goodbyes for the last time.The start of a long journey through the forest,A tedious, tiring trek and climb,Across lands mysterious and unknown,Many before had never left their home.Each night the magic summoner wove spells,Protection against the wandering daemons.Each night, fear encased the fighters, yellsAnd screams echoed in the dark,Daemons ripping victims apart.

Dawn broke, a bright orange light bringerRising over the land,Far away from home, no time to linger.A fortnight they had travelled,The God of Luck with them andNo daemons encountered.Across rivers and over mountains,Through valleys, pass warm fountains,Safe while the heat giver shined,All changed when the sun dipped low.The valiant warriors fought to save the remains of mankind,Dreadful, disgusting, despicable daemonsConverged from left, right, above, below.Blood splattered, heads rolled,A vicious fight, intestines scattered,Claws shredding uncontrolled, dagger teeth gnash and bite.

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Three fighters are gutted, two eaten alive,Another skinned, caught by surprise.The last daemon stabbed, with a startling scream,A smothering silence settled with the smell of death.The gruesome beings surounded the man,Attacked at once, killed, and feasted.

Rachel Mondshine

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The eyes speak the language of the heart,The language often foreign to the mouth,Whose dimensions and depths are almost immeasurable,Yet are somehow simply perspicuous to ones who truly search them through.

Ranging from euphoria to the sad songs of soft sorrows,The eyes reveal magnitudes of emotion,Whose simple glances could slyly pierce souls,Due to the potency, they have the power to contain.

The eyes have no mercy upon sensations wishing to be kept hidden,Allowing intruders to see into the profundity of seemingly silent souls,Since they are open books,Who are in truth most evidently not silent at all.

In the same way that one looks out through these brilliant orbs we call eyes,Others have been given the power to look in,Providing access to the poison and beauty lying within.

The Windows of the SoulTatiana Kovalsky

Rachel Mondshine Amanda Soares

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It’s time to strap your boots on, Today is the perfect day to die.I am a soldier,Tonight I fight for my life,Tonight I fight for my family,Tonight I fight for my friends,And above all, Tonight I fight for my country

We stand shoulder to shoulder, We are determined to serve our country And fight for everything we believe in.Soldiers do not surrender,Soldiers do not break,They are not conquer’d,They are not slain in vain,We stand together for freedom. We fight to the death and will never go unspoken.

I fear nothing in my path.I run over streams of bloodI sprint through the dark, blood-stained smoke,I kill any enemy that dares to cross my path.A feeling of immortality runs through my blood,My eyes are clear, my mind is quicker, my senses are heightened, my muscles are stronger, my heart beats faster.I am unstoppable.

Fear runs through my blood but I am not afraid.I am afraid of the mere thought that an enemy combatant will have the misery and misfortune to encounter me in the battlefield.

SoldierAnthony Alfonso

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I can remember the hundreds of faces of others that have fallen at my feet,I can remember the fear in their eyes,I can remember the blood on their faces,Their screams ring in my ears before I fall asleepI get a chill down the back of my spine thinking of the memories of war,I remember everything.

Roshni Singh

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Close your doorsShut your lights to the world The world of fear, light, sorrow- uncertainty Nothing can stop you now Not the worlds’ armies Not the hypocritical souls we live with Not the money that controls us This is a place for all of us The untouchables, the misunderstood The wanted, the unwanted The pious and the sinners The rich and the poor The dreamers This is where we rendezvous We know not what we do in this place The Creator left more questions than answers We question not why we go to this place Is this freedom?Or a temptation from aboveFalse conceptions of a paradise nobly sought after Crusaders die in the hopes of seeing the true God Jesus Christ, savior who freed their sins But perish to see nothing, Eternal darkness, No light on the other side. We know not We know so little Contemplation makes mortals sick And the immortals hysterical with laughter We are the meek Assurance absent We ask questions He responds with sweet-Silence, forever.

Close Your DoorsHunter Angelo

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Lucas Bjelos

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MacbethI love thee my dear wife, have missed thee so.

Lady MacbethThis man I love before me is a man,A man of power, strength, and love of wife.To love me is to love all that I want,And my desire stands right in our reach.

MacbethMy love, I cannot bear the weight it brings.The mere thought of the crime brings agony.

Lady MacbethMacbeth, you warrior, drink with me more.And fancy us as gracious king and queen.Our love would be a triumph, feted so!Golden skies of morrow would revere us.

MacbethBut how-

Lady Macbeth Do not think of what we shan’t dwell!Just love me, the sweven shall come alive.

MacbethYour tender rage excites me, noble wife.How easy life would be if we were royal.

Lady MacbethThe details shall fall into place in time.He is but someone lying in our way.

Macbeth Ghost Scene 5.5Alexis Kesselman

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Oh Macbeth, thou man of precious steel.thou strong, courageous man…Macbeth becomes dizzy and sits down.

Macbeth This wine is foulHark! I feel as though I spin, oh my head!Thine figure appears blurry, as a ghostA throbbing pain, oh bear it I cannot.As if stabbed in the brain, I cannot think,The pain consumes my thoughts, but mind is blank.What is this overcoming force I feel?

Lady MacbethDoth rest my love, this tide shall wane erelong. Doth not let fear attack you, fight it backSuperior you art, thy conscience weakOh let desire take over in your mindHere, drink another sip-

Macbeth But t’was the wine!That tried to make me lose my wits.

Lady Macbeth T’was conscience!

MacbethWhy conscience is the only thing we hathThat keeps us safe from danger in ourselves.

Lady MacbethThen why didst conscience try to hurt your mind?Danger lies in surrendering to qualms.

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Desire drives thy heart to joyful glory.Desire drove thou right into my arms.Hark! Take the dagger, stabbed your mind beforeAnd use it to achieve our greatest want.

MacbethMy thoughts already stained with Duncan’s blood,My heart the only good that I have leftIf I proceed, then who am I to think,Who am I to-

Lady MacbethThose are but senseless words.Your heart not fair if all else there is foul.Your heart not clean, if all else made of dirt.Your heart not strong Macbeth, your heart too weakTo even love the woman you call wife.

MacbethOh dearest wife do not doubt what I feel!My love for you an endless, azure sea. I would be none for thou not by my side.My love, intelligence is but a cowardTo your sheer brilliance in contemplation.But help me now; my mind is prone to torture;Your words like medicine, relieve me now.

Lady MacbethYet I become quite weary at the thought-To drop the crown our minds so tightly grasp.Yet binding adoration puts me at ease.

MacbethMy wife, your lips so soft, so alluring.A peck upon my lips and I am swayed. One more to seal the fate of that poor king.

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Lady MacbethSo do the deed, let us not speaketh more.Macbeth and Lady Macbeth kiss.

MacbethYet I feel weak, and therefore I must restIn your arms to absorb your inner strengthWhatever didst attack my mind ere now,That part of me shall rest in peace, oh sleep!The combatant in me is now aliveAnd ready to proceed with carving fate.My love, oh guide me now-

Lady Macbeth Dearest Macbeth!Doth rest; yet keep these worthy thoughts alive.Thou needeth sleep to satiate the mind. You worthy Thane, thou shalt be exalted.

MacbethOh let desires surface from within.Let Duncan’s crimson blood mark my fair skin.

Macbeth and Lady Macbeth kiss once more, but Macbeth becomes too tired and rests within Lady Macbeth’s arms.

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After MortalityAnonymous

Anonymous

And so Death comes to meI am not upsetOr frightened,Darkness gives me peaceful rest

Do not worry for I am still here, among youDo not miss me for I am furthermore by your sideAnd do not pray for me or the effort is hollowI will be forever here, unending, unfading,unfading, and uniter-rupted

I am the soldier standing still on the battlefieldI am the mother rocking her child to sleepI am the tyrant and I am the oppressedI am the great and I am the poor

I have lived through the galaxiesSwam in the rivers of bloodAnd so shall I do, forevermoreStill, Death does not part us, hallowed friend

For I am nothingAnd I am everything

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Cool. A life of adventure a life full of action life without fearlife full of passion. Something’s coming it may be me you’ll never know you’ll never see.Play it cooldon’t lose your head one wrong move Pow! You’re dead. Easy does it show no fear grab your combslick that hair.Tough as leather sharp as a knife the only thing quicker than me is my scythe.You fear my ways but-envy them too deep down inside I wish I was youBut emotion is a weakness I can’t afford emotion is death by my own accord. Born to be wild born to be free born without love never known glee.You stay in your house I’ll stay with my packfight every fight never look back.

Corpus DelictiImani Cooper-Williams

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Isabelle Lumb

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Onward, throw a falling star, Wake the children in the Cave,I will announce where past years are, Thou art the Devil’s slave,I am lured by the pirate’s passings,Thou art the one who stings, You’ve found The soundWhich advances our dishonest ground.

If thou think your sights are strange, Things are not visible to you,Your women may run estrange, Yet this is of your own brew,Look in places of bounty,For you’ve searched all the wrong county, You’ll swear They’ll bear Women both true and fair.

Your findings appear not, Your treatment is all but sweet;For the reason, this you’re taught, That women are but meat;She were true when you met her,And still the same as it were, Your abuse Must reduceThe causes of your women’s fall to seduce.

A Different SongBrooke Olefson

Isabelle Lumb

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You are an enigma; you are my enigma.Your beauty scintillates through the shattered remains of your bro-ken heart.Who would’ve known your gentle heart to be capable of tearing mine apart?I would never have guessed that after everything, I would still love you.

It began so innocently.You hovered over my desk and whispered in my ear.I let my heart skip a beat and my mind clear of anything unworthy of you.

Your mind was different, that much I did understand; you were different.As if God made a beautiful mistake creating you; Because you understood; you knew.You understood that the mind was meant to be conquered.

So naturally, I ripped open the thick armor surrounding my heart.I took your hand and placed it on the surface And let you feel its beat But I did not realize that your hand would retreat. Because it had its own mind.

I listened as you spoke of your gentle hand reaching for the surface of another heart.Because that is what I do; I listen and covertly fall apart.My soul was naked and your words were mocking my vulnerability.

EnigmaAnonymous

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You were supposed to love me.You were supposed to be different.You were supposed to let me grow in your embrace.You were supposed to let me piece together your shattered soul.

But I was supposed to love myself.I was supposed to be different.I was supposed to let myself grow, let my path wind past a mere embrace.I was supposed to piece together my own shattered soul before I went fixing you.

Jake Nachlas

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As I was being issued a hall pass to go down to the princi-pal’s office, I could hear all the other kids snickering behind me. I blew my bangs out of my face and tapped my toe, waiting for the teacher to finish filling out the blanks. I looked up at the rickety ceiling fans as they went round and round, trying to deliver cool air to the lukewarm classroom. A paper football whizzed near my face as a girl covered her mouth to laugh, reading a note her friend had passed. The teacher, of course, was oblivious, still fumbling around her desk trying to find her list of students so she could spell my name right. After what felt like an eternity of standing in front of the class in my itchy uniform, I finally grabbed hold of the flimsy white and yellow papers, smiled my toothiest, fakest grin yet, and strutted out of the stuffy classroom. I was squeezing the pass so tightly I was afraid it might rip, but I held my head high. I had nothing to be ashamed of. This was a typical Monday for me, and nothing reallydistinguished one from the other. Eventually it became a game, seeing how long I could go before being caught and banished from the classroom. This time I had made it all the way until fifth period, which was a new record in my book. I took my time getting there. Peeping in the windows of other classes, stopping in the bathroom to fix my hair and wash my hands, and walking through the field in all of its decaying glory. As I neared closer and closer, I kept glancing at the huge iron gates that separated me from the world, and dreamed of finally graduating to high school where I could start fresh and express myself. The familiar sound of an old bell greeted me as I opened the raggedy door. “One minute, please,” said the overtired, underpaid receptionist who was stuck on the phone. I sat in a navy chair and blew out a sigh, while I pulled up my uniform socks and tied one of my uniform shoes. I made sure I looked like a model student when the woman hung up the phone, ending a riveting call with a parent about her child’s most recent test grade, which was obviously the

The Nail PoliceBrittyn Bonham

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school’s fault. As I walked towards her with my back ramrod-straight. “Back so soon Ms. Bonham?” “I just missed you all too much to stay away!” I exclaimed, while handing her the crumpled pass I had almost forgotten about. We continued the rehearsed chatter while she opened the door separating the students from the adults, and led me towards the room I knew all too well. After she left and I signed my name into the book that had my signature in it too many times, I grabbed a cotton ball and acetone and began to slowly remove the last bit of the outside world and the last bit of freedom from myself. When I had nine perfectly clean fingernails, I gathered all of the used cotton pads and threw them into the empty trash can. I put the pink bottle back in its home and waved goodbye to whatever mom was assigned to be the nurse that week. Once I had re-entered the lobby, leaving the world of adults and becoming a student again, I received my new, clean hall pass and began my trek back to social studies. Once I finally rejoined the overcrowded classroom and sat back down in my seat, I examined my hands. Each nail was clean as a whistle, with no trace of any color other than its natural pink. Except for my left pinkie. It was still brightly colored and stood out from the rest of my dull uniform. I just couldn’t take the way they stripped you of yourself. I hated that I was censored in mywriting and schoolwork. But they controlled my clothing, friends, and opinions, too. My always-painted pinkie was my little secret, the last way I could cling on to the world from 7:50 to 2:35 on a school day. You have to pick your battles. Sometimes I wonder how much class I missed every time I was sent to the office to remove my nail polish, and I wonder if those weekly trips will hold me back in life.

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Kyle Israel

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It’s a crime to hide the beautyAll the time when I was lonelyGot no more time for feeling sorrySorry for the painNo more days spent wishingWishing on a starAll my starts have fallen to the groundAll that I have left to meIs all that I can hold

So hold meHold me till the moon shinesAnd takes my pain awayI’ll carry all your sorrowI’ll carry grief and painI’ll even carry anger‘cause I know its power’s greatI’ll take your doubt and miseryBut don’t you dare give me your happinessThat I couldn’t bare

It’s A Crime to Hide the BeautyAngela Cureton

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Lisa Zheutlin

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The LemonAlexis Chestnov

Was I to know thatIts sourness could turn so sweet?It started with an air of succulence outsideYet deceivingly bitter within its meat.

A tang, a sharp pinch, A tight cringe upon thought.A shutter shot down my spineAnd surprised acidity it caught.

It seemed to be delicate,Inviting and warm,But its mask did tempt meAnd hostility came to swarm.

But what I did with this venomI downright tore it apart.I fought back, shredded it,Sent each vicious drop to depart.

An ideal dash of sugarI added to this heaping mess.A flip of a switch for a fresh view;A new mélange to assess.

I took a deep breath, and became exposedTo a flavor so savory and improved.A warmer, more comfortable sensationOvercame me; I was utterly moved.

And so I took this acidulous lemonAnd turned it into sweet lemonadeTasting something with better sightForcing discomfort to eternally fade.

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Alec Bloch

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Austin Lubetkin

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Done. I’m done crying.Invisible.But my tears are still real-Crying till my tears run red.

Hurting.Bleeding from my eyesSo that maybe, maybe you’ll see me.

Done.

Maybe you’ll hear me.Screaming.Silent.But I’m still screaming.A scream to bust ear drums:But apparently I’m pitched so even dogs can’t hear me.Screaming.With my fists so maybe you’ll hear me.

Done.

Maybe—Maybe you’ll feel me.Maybe if I make you to match me.BeatingTill your tears run redTill your screams are ignored and no longer heardTill your skin is black and blueTill you and me match.Till you know me,The inside of me.Maybe you’ll feel me.

I’m Done.

DoneAngela Cureton

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Le MartinFounder’s Council 2014

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Recipient of the Founder’s Council Award for Visual Arts

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What we have is passionate love,What we have is what others desire,What we have is real, passionate love.We are magnetic,We are inevitable.

Our conversations are like poetry in motion,Our kisses are like jolts of electricity,The feeling much invigorating, thus difficult to stop.Through the black clouds, no straying,We are destined to finish this out to the end.We are romantics? Who knew?Now we do, that is all that matters.

Every tender, charming touch, a firework of Amor,Slowly stroking his face, bodies warming,Carefully grabbing her waist, sensually whispering in her vulnerable ear,Every emotion is real.

Two individualistic youths foreordained to be together.To live like her, and love like him,Him as her king and she as his queen,So naive, yet so ready to love.

Ugh, the jealous weep,To be their recreation is the ultimate goal,Three words, eight letters, say it and I’m yours.Long time did it take to say,Looking back nevermore.

We Are InevitableAlana Udwin

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Junjie Zhao

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Crash, crash, crash against the soft laden sand,As it dances with my heart in its hand.The ocean’s shore has a radiant glowAs it waves its deep waters to and fro. That enticing view seen in its deep blue eyes, Where it can take you, you cannot surmise.The crashing of the waves against the shoreCan help soothe any heart forever more.

The Morning ShoreChristopher Matthews

We Kissed at Red LightsWe kissed at red lights,Held hands at the stops,But when the green cameHands went back on the wheelAnd we would remember where you were going.

We kissed at red lights,We cherished the stops. Green means go,And going means you’re one step Closer to gone.

Anonymous

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Addison Donaher

Leslie Siegel

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Farewell, farewell, The sun sets on the last final day,The sweet song of the sparrows drifts through the wind, Caressing and possessing me, Singing softly to me, singing me a lullaby,With the lyrics, Farewell, farewell

The gentle soothing waves wash upon the unspoiled shore, The foam of the water washes over my wounds, preserving me forever in the earth I call home, The bubbles burst in a soft pop, telling me that all is well; all is well. Farewell, farewell

The sweet angel comes to me in the dead of night, She bestows a final kiss of one who has loved me foreverOne who will love me forever?The Angel wears the comforting robes of MichaelCalling me home, calling me to a ParadiseBidding adieu to the world I have known; the world I have lovedFarewell, farewell

The sweet chords of Taps fill my heartThe harmonies wrap me in a warm embrace, and fill my heart with ecstasyThe mournful lights fill my glassy eyes, as the last of my light begins to leave meMusic washes over me, the beautiful sounds of Saint Peter calling me homeThe angels play their lyre, the mother beckoning me to her sideFarewell, farewell

Farewell, FarewellMatthew Merrigan

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The agony is excruciatingThe undying light of my life lives on, long after my mortal soul has left.My fire burns bright through the darkness unknownThe pain turns to ecstasy, and I am thrust through an open door, Into a world anew. Content, blissful, pure love exceeds all other thoughtsWhere is my mother? Where is my father?The blackness consumes me. Am I alive or dead?Farewell, Farewell?

Jenna Wittich

71

My child says, What is love? bouncing forward, toe to toe.I contemplate her question. Can I answer? Do I know?

She springs into my arms. Her hair sprays over my shoulder. What is love? she repeats. Her fingers graze my cheek.

I close my eyes. I wrap my mind around her question.Love is . . .

Love is tiny, pink-frilled socks and the smell of soap and baby powder.Love is the clench of expectation and the click as a jewelry box is opened, the tremor in the hand that holds it, and the joy- ous yelp of assent that pours forth two-tenths of a second later.Love is the hard resolve in a soldier’s jaw as he joins his troop in battle.Love is the glowing presence of a framed photo, hung to commemorate a life completed.

Love is hearing It’s not fair! and the slam of a bedroom door.Love is a laughter-filled phone call at 2:30 a.m.Love is the grasp of someone’s veined, wrinkled, liver-spotted hand and the fifty-year-old memory it elicits of a much stronger, smoother hand. Love is the turn of storybook pages, the gentle recitation of long- memorized words by a drowsy-eyed parent.

Balmy, bright, feathery, fleecy, a strand of silk.Sizzling, dizzying, rough-edged, sharp, a fiery current.Both are love.

Deepti SailappanWhat is love?

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Is love patient and kind, always protecting, trusting, hoping, and persevering?Sure.But if I know one thing, it’s that love—Love worth having, love that can’t be shattered, shredded, molded, or moved—Is also rarely easy.

It’s both the toughest and greatest thing you’ll endure.

But maybe, my little one, my answer to your question—What is love?—Should have been the short one:What is love? It’s you and me.

Lucas Bjelos

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I hear the lovers talking, they talk of the new beginning with no mention of the end.They left their previous labyrinth,For it was flooding with anguish and confusion.So they set sail, together, deciding to abandon the past.Freedom was never felt until now-Nor was there any more youth than there is right now.The wind in their hair, the salt fresh on their skin.Although they fear oblivion with every passing sunrise and sunset,To them, what matters are just three. Their current world is composed of he, the one he loves, and me-I am the sea.

They watch the sun sail away as the moon comes out to replace the day.The many different colors that once painted the sky, So rapidly dissolved into the night.Back and forth back and forth their small boat rocks.Time passes, waves crash, fish swim, the stars shine,The whole world is sleeping but his whole world is her.He ponders of the future while living in the now.Wanting so badly to be her shield, to protect her from all that is unknown.As she sleeps he holds her.Studying the subtle flutter of her eyelids,Listening to her swift heart beat,Memorizing the pattern of her breath,Examining the perfect curve of her lips, He needs just her and me.She is the one he loves,And I am the sea.As she sleeps she dreams.The images are black and white-For she still cannot shake what she left behind.

Before the Turn of the TideRyan Englehardt

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He holds her and she lets him.He comforts her and she embraces it.Yes she loves him-With every fiber of her being she loves him,But is that enough?Enough to set sail to purge the past?He is irrepressible yet she is timid.He was always lonesome, something she never was.She latches on to just three-The memories she left behind,Him, the one she loves,And me, I am the sea.

Yes, I can turn the tide.Nonetheless I cannot decide what happens once the tide is turned.Although I wish I can,All I can do is guide them,Providing water for relief, waves to play, shells to see.Nonetheless I cannot decide what happens once the tide is turned.I cannot help them once they get there.For I am just the sea.

Junjie Zhao

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Flay the skin awayPiece by pieceLayer after layer

What am I now?

Am IThe words tumbling out of my mouthThe thoughts rolling in my headThe despair deep in my heart

Or just bones?

Am I The wind whipping through my hairThe grass beneath my feetThe salty tears that unite me with the ocean

Or just bones?

UndoneMadison Herin

Alana Steinberg

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Claudia Malone

You always told me there were demons in my head.That they would tell me to cut, to starve.They would sweetly whisper to me"worthless""failure""stupid"I try my hardest to ignore them, really, I do.When you taught me about the demonsyou left out one detail.The voices in my head sound an awful lotlike you.

DemonsAnonymous

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I was sky high Above it everyone and everything On the cusp of something attainable Yet something completely unreal There is was a certain magic to it Of being so separated Life went by as if I were on the edge of a black hole Able to watch everything begin and end in the blink of an eye I had the peace and serenity of knowing I could not do anything about it

The universe was too far away I was still a part of it Just not in the literal sense that I could cause a change Nor in the sense that I could feel anything

There in that sense of helpless bliss Is the answer to immortality The answer to immortal youth For no troubles could weigh me down The people, the mountains, the oceans, the world It all was not in my worry And totally and completely out of my sphere of control

Above It AllMegan Eisenfelder

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Catherine Lott

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In a place far from responsibility, in a place far from constraints, I find a haven of freedom,In my home of obligations, I find solace in a world, a world of imagination, free from my confinement.

Fate has only brought me here once, on a vacation one can only dream of,A vibrant city, with narrow streets enrich’d in the stories of its past, Lights twinkling on the eve of Saint Nicolas’ day, the scent of fresh gingerbread and steaming cider hanging in the cold frost of day,Markets and markets brandishing ornaments and knick-knacks to those from far and wide,By day or by night, laughter and merriment emanates this vibrant city, from the desolate fortress upon a hill, to the spires of ancient cathedrals, to the bridge of lock-kept secrets,Fate holds a wonderland from my world, mischievously hidden for a purpose,Of awakening the child in me.

Not far from this city, Fate brought me to the countryside, where my heart throbb’d at the allure of its nature,T’was similar to a winter wonderland from the storybook of an infant, Powdery snow crunching beneath my boots, the chill of winter kissing my nose and cheeks, particles of white caught in my hair,

Horses breathing out puffs of translucent frost, pulling sleighs with bells surely ringing,

Winter WonderlandNicole Maharaj

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The woods holding the serenity of mystery, kindl’d here and there by the warmth of the sun, radiating onto the soil in aimless patches of light,Snowball fights spurring competition between my sister and me, the heat of excitement warming our rosy cheeks,T’was a place Fate knew I would never forget, for it had mischievously hidden a purpose,Of awakening the child in me, and this child, never return’d to her world the same way again.

Katherine Jovanovic

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How fickle is the miniscule Dandy flowing in the airy breezeHow fluently it trails the wind whoosh swoosh, to and fro, notThrowing caution into its swift, sudden, movements. It movesOne moment and forgets the last.

The wind picks up and the desperate Dandy struggles to keepUp, it tries to move with the unforgiving wind but it is tooFrail and fragile. Its white wispy seeds spring off, leaving theOnce daring Dandy lost from the minds of those that may followIts placid path.

In the place of the dashing Dandy lies barren land left severed dueTo the missing element it once nurtur’d and car’d for, it attemptsTo come to terms with the loss that once made it beautiful, vivacious,Vibrant, and jolly. Just when all hope seem’d lost a small seed silentlyWafts in the air, needing a place to rest. It comes across t he empty patchWhere the delightful Dandy once stood and settl’d there bringing forthNew life to the desolate land.

And so this cycle of life and death continues, calm one momentFlowing freely without worry throughout all things living, in the next Abrupt moment its livelihood is terminat’d by items unseen, undetect’dBut fear not, in the midst of the sorrow and pain, new life is created inThe place of all things lost.

Fleeting PerpetuityBrianna Bruny

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I am the planet pleading for help,Buildings upon buildings conceal my beauty,Clean air and soil I cherish, I witness the decimation of those around me,The rumble of their factories and cars pierces the air,They destroy’d all surroundings, they pillag’d the land.

I wait restless each night, uncertain of the near future,Day by day my anxiety augments,Empty and desolate are my barren surroundings, the soilThe green vanishes and turns into gray.

Diminished and scarce, the land stripp’d of its life, I am the wasteland myself.

I am the earth, I cry of my pollution,I gradually deteriorate.

Continues the smog in the air,Continues the water’s contamination,Continues the expanse of the concrete jungle.

I witness the maltreatment of my sons and daughters,The exhaust, the oil, the litter toss’d by millions,The roars of the engines releasing their fumes,Each of them contributing to the demise of Mother Nature,The accumulation of lethal chemicals, the eternal effects,Clunk, clunk, the pile of bottles exponentially rises.

Continues the extinction of life forms, no longer withstanding,they desperately whisper Change – or forever see the consequences.

Terrible, Tarnishing TreatmentAnonymous

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Karena Halvorssen

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Dull sunrise. Sirens blare over the intercom. The people get up. Put on their gray uniforms, each labeled with a different number. Leave their units. March up the street towards the ‘Center of Service to the Mother’. Silence. Only the monotonous sound of footsteps can be heard. Everything is the same. The people are the same. The houses are the same. The dismal sky casts shadows on the already gray scenery. They arrive. The steel gates slide open. Leaden, glazed over eyes silently file into the large front yard of the massive factory-like building. All are there. The gates close. A harsh robotic voice over the intercom, “5:30 AM. Day 13/365. Commence the pledge of commitment.” The people drone, “We are proud to complete this day’s work with determination and strength. We are proud to serve our mother, for she provides us with all. We will take only what we need and offer all we can. We pledge everlasting commitment to our mother and our nation, for this is the way to glory and redemption. True honor lies in sacrifice. In sacrifice we are one.” The steel gray doors of the building slide open. The gaunt, morose people shuffle in. All the same height, hair, coloring and scrawniness. All the same. They know where to go. Each is assigned a task since the day of their 15th year of existence in the nation. They are at their posts within minutes.They work. The same menial tasks repeated endlessly. Hours. The sirens blare over the intercom for the second time. The machinery stops, the blank faces march to the Hall of Subsistence. The hall is filled with tables that are filled with huge bowls that are bursting with a white mash. The people sit on the benches lining the tables in silence. They gorge on the mash, us-ing their hands to eat. Over the intercom, “1:30 PM. 5 minutes of nourishment remaining.” The people consume the mash even faster than before. Their first and only sign of humanity all day. Frantic. They furiously dig their hands into the bowls and slap them to their mouths, the mash on their faces, in their hair. They themselves do not know why they are so desperate to finish; it is pure survival

GrayLauren Valad

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instinct, for they do not know how to feel. Pain, hunger, thirst, despair. These things are absent from their existence. They con-sciously feel nothing. The siren blares for the third time; bowls are not even halfway empty. Some involuntarily let out violent shrieks of despair, but they know not why. For they do not know how to feel. Desperate clawing at the bowls as they rise to the ceil-ing magnets. Away. Out of reach. Buckets of water are released from the ceiling, washing out the mashfrom the people’s uniforms, hair, faces, and eyes as they hopelessly grasp upward, panting. The buckets continue to dump the water on the people, who regain their composure, and most of the mash is washed out. They return to their posts with hollow eyes. The show is over. They work. The same menial tasks repeated endlessly. Hours. The sirens blare over the intercom for the fourth time. The machinery stops. The intercom, “1:30 AM. Service for this day is over. Before reporting to the yard, take a subsistence pill.” They all know where to go. Back the way in which they came this morn-ing. The steel gray doors to the yard are open. Two bowls are filled with subsistence pills on each side of the opening. Dead and dull, the people file out to the yard, on their way taking a subsistence pill and swallowing it. Once in the front yard, they face the building. The doors close. The intercom, “Commence the pledge of commit-ment.” The people all recite in monotone the same pledge from the morning. The gates open. The people walk down the street to their assigned units. The gates close. Once in their units, they take off their uniforms and lie their bony bodies down in their beds, all on their backs. The sirens blare for the fifth time. The intercom, “2:00 AM. Downtime.” Then, all t the same time, they mechanically shut their eyes and sleep.

............. Dull sunrise. Sirens blare over the intercom. The people get up. Put on Their gray uniforms. Leave their units. March up the street. Silence. Everything is still the same. The people are the same. The houses are the same. The dismal sky casts shadows on the gray scenery.

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But something is different from the eternal rhythm of the past. A girl, hardly noticeable. Her hair is slightly shorter, her eyes slightly wider, her body slightly fuller. She is different. But every-thing is still the same.

The gates open. Leaden, glazed over eyes silently file into the front yard. The girl’s eyes are different, new. The day of her 15thyesterday. This is her first day of service. The gates close. A harsh robotic voice over the intercom, “5:30 AM. Day 14/365. Commence the pledge of commitment.” The people monotonously drone the pledge of commitment. The girl stutters. She is different, but she will surely be the same, eventually. The people are at their posts in minutes. She is the last one there. They work. Hours. No one notices how long but her. The sirens blare over the intercom for the second time. The machinery stops, the blank faces march to the Hall of Subsistence. All blank but hers. The same gross show of hysterical desperation takes place in the Hall of Subsistence that has taken place everyday for years. The panic to finish the gluttonous amount of tasteless mash overtakes everyone but her. Over the intercom, “1:30 PM. 5 minutes of nourishment remaining.” She eats slowly, careful not to spread the mash on her face, unlike the others. No-body notices, too consumed by their mania of finishing their only meal of the day. When the siren blares for the third time, she does not cry out like the others. She does not howl or scream, or reach towards the ceiling. She is calm, almost serene, as the buckets of water pour over her. She is dreading returning to work. The people return to their posts with hollow eyes. But her eyes are wide, and they are different. They work. The same menial tasks repeated endlessly. Even longerhours. She hates this. She hates the mother. She knows how to feel and the others don’t and she hates that too. But still, she does not want to be the same. How do they do this day after day? The sirens blare over the intercom for the fourth time. The machinery stops. The intercom, “1:30 AM. Service for this day is over. Before reporting to the yard, take a subsistence pill.” The steel gray doors to the yard are open.

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Two bowls are filled with subsistence pills on each side. Dead and dull, the people file out to the yard, on the way taking a subsistence pill and swallowing it. She works to calm her horror. She does not take a subsistence pill. The doors close. The intercom, “Commence the pledge of commitment.” The people all recite in monotone the same pledge from the morning. She is silent. The gates open. The people walk down the street to their assigned units. But she cannot move. Something, someone, will not allow her to pick her feet up off the ground and move from the place in which they are planted. The gates close. She is frantic. She tries harder to move her feet, but success has abandoned her in her most needed hour. She is stuck and her limbs are numb. The people dumbly march away, oblivious. In a robotic voice, too quiet for the people to hear, “You are not committed to the mother. She has provided the nation with all.” he girl knows she cannot save herself now. She fiercely growls, “The mother has done nothing but make the people slaves.” The speaker, “You are not what you should be. Unpredictable. The greedy are not tolerated in the nation.” Then, complete silence. She knows it is over. No one defies the mother. A brief, searing pain. Then she is limp, lifeless. Now she is the same, no longer slightly different. Everyone is the same again. The sirens blare for the fifth time. The intercom, “2:00 AM. Down-time.” The people mechanically shut their eyes and sleep.

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Arix-Yani Fabre

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Slow and steadyPulsingI feel the weight of your life on my mindAnd we are the sameThe thumps make me believeEverything will be okayIn this momentWe both feel the crashAnd the emotions hitBut they are separateBecause we are togetherAnd even though we feel itAll like an oncoming stormOur hearts will keep on beating

HeartbeatsAnonymous

Samantha Breakstone

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Samantha BreakstoneLeslie Siegel

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A small boy sits on the sidewalk outsideof that ice cream shop he loves so muchHis round chubby face breaks into a smile whenhe is handed a double scoop of chocolateHe’s too youngToo young to understand the cruelness of the worldToo young to be pierced with the grief of having someone torn awayToo young, too unprepared, to innocent

A teenage boy bounces his knee nervously as he waits for his eighteen year old date to arriveHe smiles awkwardly as he catches sight of her coming through the glass door of the restaurantHe’s too youngToo young to understand why his father never came homeToo young to notice how his mother weeps when she knows he can’t see her Too young, too unprepared, too innocent

A young man grumbles as he finally manages to hail a taxi in the fading light of dayHe knows he’ll be late to work and dreads the glare of his intimidating bossHe’s learning nowLearning how the world really worksLearning what a harsh and unforgiving reality it isLearning, understanding, succumbing

A middle aged man kisses his wife a gentle good bye as he heads out the door of their small house

Song of A BoyKatia Mignocchi

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He smiles a sad smile as he sees his youngest daughter peek out from behind his wife

He’s learning nowLearning how his mother could have died so suddenly of cancerLearning what the doctor’s drawn tired faces meant when they came out of the ERLearning, understanding, succumbing

An old wrinkled man smiles slowly as he watches the waves rolling onto the shoreHe remembers his wife who just passed, he remembers his daughters, both off leading their own livesHe knows nowHe knows about love and hate, violence, and sorrowHe knows why his mother gave everything just to put him through schoolKnowing, seeing, accepting

A young woman in her mid-twenties steps out from the crowd of gathered mournersShe sniffles a bit as she throws her single red rose onto the black tombstone of her fatherShe knows tooShe knows her father would have given her the world if he could have and still the tears flowShe knows her father loved her with every breath in his body and still her heart aches with griefShe knows, she grieves, she moves on

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Anonymous

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I am floating through anything and everything. I am alone, but I feel surrounded by my thoughts, these words that sing to me whisper through one ear and out my other.My unruly mind is moving as my resting body lays still. Thoughts that I’ve unthought-of and thought of over and over tickle my uneasy mindMy eyes remain shut, yet I am alive.I am slowly slipping richer into sleep.

The existence of existing to someone or not to someone bites at my heart and tugs at my eyes.You’re breathing, but are you truly alive?I am trapped in my dream, but I am blissful, and I am floating.Words pass me and sink me deeper and deeper into the chilled waterI open my eyes but am still not awake.

Red, yellow, orange, blue, and bright white grip my numb body Illuminated with these colors, my body is glowing.My sensitive heart yellow, my wide smile and valuable lips blue, my vast eyes pale from white yet green from adventure, These colors feel me, and I these colors.

I see my world collapse around me and build my own world with my own desires.

Desiring, longing, and waiting for something that is usually un-reachable.I will wait for, I am capable of anything here. Nobody is around to hear my body break the surface, but the feel

A Dream of ThoughtChina Copperstone

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of the waves and the wetness slipping down my cheeks and down my nose drips into the water.My body swashes through the ocean as I am running towards the shoreThe night is dark and I lay comfortable with my eyelids shutI see darkness and gently deteriorate down to my lowest emotion.I see nothing but I know it is everything.

Don’t wake me up, Don’t disturb my peace.My state of mind is distant; this is not a night of rest. This is where I think, My thoughts think of everything but me. The only sounds I hear are the words that whizz by: Unspoken words I should have said, Words that he spoke,Words that had stung my childish ears.I swallow them.

None of this existed anymore,This was all a dream.

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Lindsay Siegel

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This is my letter to the Agonybuilding inside of Me - The simple News of Hell below -Heaven is out of reach

His Message is not frighteningto an individual such as Me -For Love of Pain – Sweet – haunted soulJudge not- of Agony

This is My letter to the AgonyAnonymous

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Samantha Baizan

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Austin Lubetkin

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Painfully awake on my icy bed I lieUsing every ounce of self-control not to pry the eyes from my skullHow I would give anything to feel the stillness, to feel the blacknessI close my eyes to the blistering brightness of the piercing lights

The cosmic firmament of blaring nighttime suns flares feverishly before my bone-dry eyesThe light is my foe; it waits until the last second to burnish bright through the blanket of night until the sweltering dawn breaks above the horizonThe clock ticks, minutes, by hours, by seconds all the sameAn eternity within a single blink of the eye, every arid flicker cuts deeper

I wish you could feel it, being mandated to dream while you’re awake, until the instant when you finally let go; the shrill screams of torment bring you back to where you started

The glare of the abyss reflects mine own façade Seeing into my own eyes that see allMyself in my eyes and mirrored in the orb of itself after thatThe eyes that see all, that merely seek to see the absence of all

I am the one who has never known nothingI am the one who knows not of dreamsI am the one who waits and watches over this domain through a spyglass, waiting....

For the pestiferous, gory, sweltering inferno to cease

RestlessMadison Noonan

101

Within the flurries and chills of the dark December night, multiple

battles were held between the cordial warmth of the sun covered and overpowered by the recalcitrant clouds of ice and snow.

Whether one commends and is fond of the dismal scene, or is of the contrary, and beholds hatred and despise, there is no escape to the winter’s apathy. The unloading multifarious snow falls in different patterns and amounts to even the area just an inch away. The once dark, slick roads have been stultified, losing all its stance and reason,Turning it into a winding path, lost in the non-stop faint whistling of the wind.Each apprehensive step unearths emotions from within that are unrecognizable.All one should see is black, but the white sheet of snow has successfully covered all sight, placing any being into quandary.Decrepit snow droplets began to float down; all the swarming stopped, everything became still. Quiet. Dead silence, The distant sounds of a trickling stream echoed through the empty space, the reprisal has taken place,Slowly, but subtly the feeling of warmth began to peak over the snowy caps,the deadly winter frenzy discovered condolence within itself. The hospitable beams of the sun left a suave feeling on every object in its path.

The Wandering RoadBrittany Hammel

102

Jake Nachlas

Drawn to it, the head disposed of the winter horror,The exposed sun had overpowered the winter, welcoming spring. The chirps of the canaries singing their beautiful songs traveled with the wind, Greens sprouted about, along with the pure yellow tulips and blood red roses. The once covered, frail road had been restored to its fierce blackness, taking dominance.Spring has arrived.

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A table, two chairs, two men,A deck of cards, a game. A heart, a diamond, a clover, a spade A King, a Queen, a Jack.

An army made of paper,A war against the men,Could this deck of cards mean something more,Or is it simply just a game?

Is the Two of Spades a peasant,Is the King of Hearts a monarch?Is the Four of Clovers poor, Is the Queen of Diamonds wealthy?

Can fifty-two cards, which all house together, Send a message of humanity,What if these cards dictate ourselves, simply through a spirit,The rules, the reactions, the rankings all revealing secrets.

Have you ever notic’d, in a shuffled deck,The red, the black, the black the red, lying side by side,The colors all intermingled, showing something more,Removing what is known as race and color of the skin.

Have you ever notic’d, in a shuffled deck,The diamonds, the hearts, the clovers, the spades, lying side by side,The shapes all intermingled, showing something more,Removing what is known as image; skinny, fat and thin.

Have you ever notic’d, in a shuffled deck,The twos, the threes, the kings, the queens, lying side by side,The numbers all intermingled, showing something more,Removing what is known as wealth and authoritative rule.

Fifty-TwoElizabeth Feldman

104

If men creat’d this deck of cards,With the colors side by side,With the shapes in any group,With the numbers in any order,Then why can’t men create this home,Free of race,Free of judgment, Free of wealth.

Can fifty-two cards, which all house together, Send a message to humanity?

Deepti Sailappan

105

T'was the time afore duskThe setting sun tore the sky with bright streaks of orange lightHe caress'd his sore arms His anxiety grew more

The challenge was imminentThere was no chance for change The coach's cheer came charging with impactThe rapid thump in his breast and throb in his head

Shall this be his momentHis performance was crucialThe water was unstirringDivergent from the thoughts in his head

He felt the icy water under his toesHe felt the brisk blow of the windHe felt his body struggling to remain warmAnd finally he felt his hands break the serenity of the pool as he dove in

Every nerve in his form was electrified His mind squirming to adapt to this new environmentHis arms paddl'd hurriedGenerating warmth and propelling himself forwardThe moment he tremendously anticipat'd was finally in play

The agonizing pressure of expectations crush'd his chestHis muscles tighten'dHis desperation was more than overwhelmingHe felt powerless.

The RaceJoao Pereira

106

Howbeit his feeling of defeat his devotion was puissantThe psychological fight is intenseHowever, he desires to finish his race free from ruthThe mental aggravation to overcome one’s limits is unimaginable The desire to gasp for air is incomprehensible

In defiance of all he sprints the endlong distances betwixt the walls amainTo end the race without any dissatisfactionHe is the average swimmer

Kendal Killermann

107

Tick Tock Tick Tock,Consistency in life is rare.Tick Tock Tick Tock,But there is one thing steady and constant.Tick Tock Tick Tock,The clock, the watch, the sun keep ticking.Tick Tock Tick Tock,Time takes no breaks, no pauses nor rest.

Around the world, the numbers are different.But time affects everyone, everything, everywhere.Across the oceans, only one thing is the same.Time is like an ever-flowing river.

The measurement of time is a misconception.Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years,Truly, time has no units.It endlessly flows and flows.

Time brings us birth and with it happiness.Time brings us death and with it despair.Time brings us sunlight but brings us rain.Time brings us sin but brings us redemption.Time is our enemy and the friend.

Time is the ultimate boss.Time is the controller of fate.Time is the father of history.Time is the author of the book of life.

The Ever-Flowing RiverTyler Shevin

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Tick Tock Tick Tock,Time is but an illusion that dictates our world.Tick Tock Tick Tock,Time cannot be seen by the ordinary.Tick Tock Tick TockBut I see time like a man sees light.Tick Tock Tick Tock,The ever flowing river ticks on.

Karena Halvorssen

109

The wind sweeps across the field at the beginning of the climb The wind blows through the grass, sways the sage bushes that line the mountainside The sweet, fresh, magical smell of the nothing overwhelms and takes over me.

We start together up the winding, thin, empty trail;Crossing over singing creeks and whistling streamsI hear them and I know them.

There is no sign of any other humans Just tracks of the tiny creatures who roam the woodland floors The antler marks of the great, majestic, tall elk that roam these parts And every once in a while an indication of the beasts that control these forestsI see them and I know them.

We continue on the path taken by none,As we climb higher and higher up the mountainside the trees become scarcerAnd the air becomes thinner and sweeter. Up here there are no sounds except the occasional chirp of the little marmot who lives beneath the rockAnd life becomes less evident.

At the final resting point of our journey we reach the castle made from rock;Much more beautiful than any gothic place created through the works of manThis dwelling is home to no king of man nor ruler of the human race,Yet instead is created by the natural things and is home to all who see I see them and I know them.

Castle Rock Megan Eisenfelder

110

I hear the world before I see it.The clanging of dishes and the whir of a hairdryer is my alarm clock.I open my eyes and see green walls, flowers, and teddy bears.I run to the kitchen to feast on cheerios and television.I put on my new uniform, brush my teeth and leave for school.I am four years old.

I hear the world before I see it.The cry of a newborn is my alarm clock.I cover my head with a floral pillow, but eventually open my eyes to green walls, flowers, and books.I put on my uniform, brush my teeth, eat a quick breakfast, chat, and leave for school.I am six years old.

I hear the world before I see it. A squeaky hamster wheel, and young laughter is my alarm clock. I open my eyes to green walls covered in Nick, Kevin, and Joe, flip-flops, and a guitar.I feed the hamster, brush my teeth, put on my uniform, and leave with breakfast to go.I am nine years old.

I feel the world before I see it.A young sister shaking me awake at three a.m. is my alarm clock.I open my eyes to a tear streaked face, a mattress on the floor, and tales of a night terror.I comfort her and sing to her until she is taken to dreamland, wishing my troubles where as shallow as nightmares.I am eleven years old.

I smell the world before I see it.The scent of pine and cookies is my alarm clock.

Songs of DawnBrittyn Bonham

111

I open my eyes to green walls covered in memories, an excited sister, and a small dog yapping.I put on a red and white hat and follow my kinfolk into the living room. It is Christmas morning.There is one gift I know I need, but won’t get.I am thirteen years old.

I feel the world before I see it.Pain is my alarm clock.I open my eyes to green walls (barely seen through posters, and pictures), puffy eyes, textbooks, and scarlet.I try to clean my room and my mind of memories from the night before, I wash my face, and play what was written.It’s Easter morning, just before dawn.I am fourteen years old.

I hear the world before I see it.An alarm clock wakes me up.I open my eyes to green walls, windows, a smile on my face, and sheet music. I get my breakfast, say good morning, turn on music, make my bed, get ready, and leave.I am fifteen years old.

I see the world through mirrors and memories.I wake up to the sound of mornings past.Frames of photographs litter the tables and shelves.I look at them, I hear them, I feel them, I am them.A smiling four year old with short hair and missing teeth.A curious six year old with a newborn sibling.A mischievous nine year old in an angel costume.A nervous eleven year old on the first day of a new school.A scared thirteen year old with the tree on Christmas morning.A somber fourteen year old in pajamas on Easter morning.

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And finally, a smiling teen with bright eyes and long hair. She is happy, so happy.Surrounded by childhood toys, literature, old Jonas brother CDs, a beautiful sister, sheet music, and green walls.

She is four, six, nine, eleven, thirteen, fourteen, Fifteen years old.

Alina Carey

113

I drive. I drive until I see the light. I drive until I am the light.

The DriveAnonymous

Emily Williams

114

Emily Williams

Once upon a timeI was cleanfresh out of a wombI was newto the world around meI was shieldedFrom the pain.

Once upon a timeI learned struggleIs not what it seems to beI learned griefIs not the end of the roadI learned black and whiteContain streaks of gray.

Once upon a timeThere was hurtIn meThere was deathSurrounding meThere was stressDrowning me.

Then I learnedNothing remains pure.Struggle and grief are inevitable.There are rights in wrongsAnd there are wrongs in rights.Hurt fades awayBut death is always.

And I grew.

Once Upon a TimeSkenda Jean-Charles

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