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
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!
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
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,
Of every day,
Dreams are stolen,
Left without a trace.
-By Jessica Moelle
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
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