Cold Bitter Winter

Cold and bitter, for the December winter,
As the snow fell in the night, all my mom saw were lights,
One car, six kids, upside down in a ditch,
She knew it was him,
My uncle, James Bradley, he left us sadly,
Sixteen years of age, I know I’ll see him again someday.

By Cameron Kelly 


Confused Young Mother

What should I do?
I’m really confused
Do I keep going through, or make you old news
I been through so much, and don’t want to make you suffer
So I’m going to do what’s right, and be a good mother
I love you so much, but I don’t even know you yet
But I look forward to meeting you once I find out when my due date is set!

-Breonika McGee


Live A Little

 Your presence satisfies the silence of hysteria  my fingertips are tingling with the spoken words,  of a modern world.  

A muted trigger takes another heart  of a sorry man  the wisdom that had once been  scarce is in their hands, snatched  from his plans.  

In a place far away from the  icicles that hang from your face  sits a man, he holds the sun  so the earth can't reach.  

By Aaron Reed

Child's Sight

The view caught in existence  Lies reality at hand  Once so far in the distance  That's why I don't understand  Time flew with no resistance  That time that was never planned  Life's clock had such persistence  Leaving the past to expand

Now; an unrewarding scene  A picture not to be proud  The present here is obscene  A vulgar mind became loud  Envy is the color green  And so is the tainted crowd  I pray a smile to intervene  It fails through the twilight cloud  

Every foot that steps outside  Needs the eye to stay alert  Trust is only self relied  Precautions not to feel hurt  Feelings fatal not to hide  Remain buried in the dirt  Kill or be killed; you decide  A consequence not to flirt  

Rainbows only shades of grey  Their arcs under the street light  Stars above don't show the way  Fools in doubt would think they might  Trust in heart leaves you the prey  Heated blood will guide the night  Brings you just another day  These days unseen in child's sight.  

By Rebecca Nolan (self published author of Midnight Veil)


Dreaming is nice,

Dreaming is fun,

But when it’s time to wake up,

Where do dreams go?,

Do they live?,

Do they die?.

Dreams die all the time,

Every minute,

Of every day,

Dreams are stolen,

Left without a trace.

-By Jessica Moelle

My Son's Day

 The large wrinkled surface flows with the wind's fluctuant direction as freely as your mother's silk skirt.  

I can see your small sphere of light dimming, flashing, and struggling   for an opening but constantly being denied   by the clouds that follow the wind's blow.  

With strength and the paths set by your rays (raise),   the clouds soon find it impossible to contain your light; and the small sphere  is seen growing, beaming, and reflecting on the large wrinkled surface. 

But wait! I see that your mark has begun fading and the surface now reflects darkness from the overcast that scars your impression, not allowing your light to shine.  

All of this will indeed happen my friend,   but know that I will aid in your struggle because  the warmth in my heart provided by your light remains  constant regardless of the clouds that may glide over my son's day.  

Copyright © 1997 by Derrick Figures