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June 7
Standing there in uncomfortable shoes
Twisting my hands in agony
I memorize every line of your face
Every detail in your icy hands
I don't acknowledge her heavy arm
Hanging on my
Trembling shoulder
It weighs me down and I struggle to
Stay standing
I've become weak these past few days
But you wouldn't know anything about that
He told me you didn't fight hard enough
But I don't believe it
Why are your stubborn eyes closed so tightly?
Stop it, open them
And see what you have done to us all
|
Kate
10th grade
Grand Rapids MI, US |
| About the Author: My name is Kate and I'm almost 16. I'll
be a Junior in just a little bit, a big upperclassman! I've been writing
for as long as i can remember. This specific poems is about my parents
divorce. It's an older poem and i really hope you like it. |
| Somewhere Out There
Somewhere in those deep blue skies
There lies
Something more
Somewhere in those blackened holes speckled with stars
There lies
The many answers
To life's hardest questions
Somewhere deep inside us
There is goodness
We must seek to set free
But somewhere out there
There is more for you and me
Oh just wait beyond the sunsets
Just wait beyond the moon
Anything can happen, baby
If we just set the mood
Somewhere out there lies the truth
Let's get going
Let's set the mood
It sits waiting
Waiting for us to make the first move
Like that hottie that seems to always smile from across the room
It surprises us on those lazy afternoons
Leading into peaceful nights
That bring us such good news
I met him at sunset
On a night I never dreamed could be
He amazed me with his ease and comfort
And how funny he seemed to be
He took my jokes
And threw them back my way
And I was damned if I wasn't going to get him to stay
Oh just wait beyond the sunsets
Just wait beyond the moon
Anything can happen, baby
If we just set the mood
Somewhere out there lies the truth
Let's get going
Let's set the mood
Let's just set the mood
To fall in love
Break off those sonnets
And start telling everyone you know
Memorize your lover's face
So no one else could ever replace
Their smile in your heart
And love's a tragedy
Livin so far away
But I can tell you this:
It's so worth the wait
Somewhere out there
Lies that perfect one
The one you wish for on shooting stars
The one whose laughter brings such sweet dreams to your heart
And somewhere out there
Lies that perfect one...
The one whose kiss gets you weak in the knees
The one whose smile sets your whole soul free
Oh just wait beyond the sunsets
Just wait beyond the moon
Anything can happen, baby
If we just set the mood
Somewhere out there lies the truth
Let's get going
Let's set the mood
Oh just wait beyond the sunsets
Just wait beyond the moon
Anything can happen, baby
If we just set the mood
Somewhere out there lies the truth
Let's get going
Let's set the mood
May 31, 2001 |
Caitlyn
11th grade
Seattle, Washington |
| About the author of "Somewhere Out There" -- I
rarely write lyrics, so sorry if these aren't exactly...Hmmmm...? Yeah,
but I'm 17 and in my last week of junior year. |
SUICIDE
I stood at the brink,
My mind in a daze.
My thoughts were spinning
Reality into a haze.
The pain was so great,
I could no longer stand
And was ready to end it,
Even with my own hand.
Step by step
I thought it out.
I was ready to bring
The end about.
Ready to end it
To take my own life,
With all that I had;
The blade of a knife.
Death and I
Were coming near,
But then I shuttered
And gasped in fear.
I realized I'd gone
To far on the ledge,
And if someone didn't help me,
I'd go over the edge.
I'm only 15!
My heart cried in pain.
Yet already
I'm going insane.
I fell on my knees.
What more could I do?
Of fighting and trying,
My strength was threw.
This life I was given
Is not mine to take,
I realized that moment,
The choice is not mine to make.
With help from others
And struggle and strife,
I will have to keep trying
And keep choosing life! |
Rachel
USA |
| I am 16, and have Social anxiety disorder. |
Away
There are times when all I want is to get away
Away from everyone I know
Sometimes I wish I could take off
and go wherever I pleased
To the lakes of Southern France
or the white sand beaches of the Italian Riviera
When life gets hectic
all I really want to do
is take off and leave my world behind
To the Rainforests of the Amazon
or the waterfalls of the African Jungle
When no ones on your side,
all the world makes you cry
and you don't like where you are
When all you feel is hurt and pain
and never any joy
All you want is to get away
Maybe to the green, magical forests of Ireland
or the Heather-covered hills of Celtic Scotland
All you ever want
is to be on your own
where no one can find you
hurt you
or make you cry |
Megan
12th grade
Baltimore, MD USA |
| I wrote this piece when I was upset about things going on
in my life. I learned the best way to deal with things is to write about
them. |
A Cry in the Darkness
A cry in the darkness
That no one hears
A scream into silence
Containing the fears
A stone down the well
No one heard the splash
A burning matchstick
No one saw the ash
A tear moving slowly
Evoking no stares
A mountain immobile
And nobody cares
A ripple of water
Unseen in the stream
A question posed loudly
Unheard in the dream |
Claire
8th grade
Boulder, CO, USA |
About the author of A Cry in the Darkness.
I enjoy writing a lot. Writing is such a way to be yourself and create
things. I enjoy writing poetry and long, long stories. During my free time
I play soccer and hockey, but writing is my favorite hobby. |
Coastal Days
let the fog come.
these sunny days are letting me down.
the ferocious blue skies,
faint wisps of clouds
clear with overwhelming truth.
let the fog come.
shade my sight,
embrace my being
and remit the afterglow
beaming from my hidden bafflement.
let the fog come.
and shield the lake
until the reflected sun
is something i can take. |
Yellehs
San Francisco, ca |
| what can i say? I'm a genius, i know.hey, i needa poetry
partner, a bud to bash.bring it on baby! let your e-mail visit me at (removed) |
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE
J. D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, is a splendid novel describing a
young seventeen
year-old man named Holden Caulifield. The story begins with the
adolescent narrator (Holden )
recovering from a nervous breakdown in a California rest home in the
1950's. He begins to tell
about his life starting with the previous December on the day he was
kicked out of his
upper-middle-class boarding school, Pency Prep, for failing four of his
five classes. Holden leaves
Pency to return to his home in New York City where a psychological
breakdown gradually
overtakes him. Caulifield ends his story from a mental institution.
Pency Prep is a well-known and acclaimed school across the nation.
It's motto is "Since
1888 we have been molding boys into splendid, clear-thinking young
men." Holden doesn't agree
with the school's proceedings and doesn't like anyone there. After
Holden is told by the
headmaster that he is expelled from his third high school, he returns to
his dorm where he has a
brawl with his roommate, Stradlater, and an unpleasant chat with his
friend, Ackley. In the
middle of the night, Holden decides to leave the school for good by taking
a train to New York
City in hope to find solace in his disturbing evening. Before
returning home to his family in
Manhattan with the bad news of his expulsion, he gets well rested in a
hotel for a few days,
allowing time for the headmaster's letter to arrive to his parents
explaining the bad news. While
in the city, he has many encounters with adults and his hatred toward
their world increases as he
sees how hypocritical, insincere, and dishonest they are.
Increasingly miserable, he goes home
one night and sneaks past his parents to awaken his ten year-old sister,
Phoebe, who is ecstatic to
see him. Holden is overjoyed as well to be in the presence of youth
and purity especially Phoebe
since she is very affectionate and generous to him. She even gives
Holden her Christmas savings.
He promises to return the cash to her and then leaves to stay with his
former English teacher, Mr.
Antolini. When Holden arrives at Mr. Atolini's home, he is given a
long talk and good advice
concerning his future. Holden goes to sleep on the sofa and is
awakened by Mr. Antolini patting
his head in the middle of the night. Surprised and fearful that the
former teacher is making
homosexual advances towards him, Holden leaves. Holden decides that
he will leave New York
forever and hitchhike west. He wanders the streets of the city,
observing children and talking out
loud to his dead brother Allie. He meets Phoebe to return her money
but she begs to travel with
him. Holden is appalled and refuses her invitation but he does take
her to the park where he
watches her ride the marry-go-round. As he observes her amusement,
he is overcome with a
sense of happiness. Realizing Phoebe is uncorrupted in society he
feels comfort and hopeful
about accepting responsibility for his own life. Holden concludes
the novel by refusing to discuss
anything that happens after that. The important thing to him is that
he finally accepts his life
because he returns home, is sent to a rest home to find help, and will
continue school next year.
Throughout the book the reader develops a strong grasp as to the type of
person Holden
is. As I read the novel, I started to see a relationship between
myself and Holden. Holden is very
intelligent, perceptive and sensitive, yet he tells his story in a
critical and cynical attitude. He feels
alienated in the ugly, disillusioned and unbearable adult society of which
he is becoming a part.
He would like to identify himself as "the catcher in the rye".
He would be content if he could
stand at the edge of a cliff by a field full of rye where children
are playing a game. As the
children would come close to the edge and fall off, he would catch them.
This displays Holden's
want for the protection of the innocent and his great moral values.
He wants to save the youth
from the pain that he is presently experiencing. Holden proves to be
a strong and courageous
character when he realizes that he can't rely on someone else to save him
from his "fall"; he must
do it himself. Holden is truly concerned about people and wants to
fight against the world's
corruption to return morals to society. Society causes his fall
downward, but he uses it to also
lead his way back to reality and a new point of view. In my opinion,
he is displayed as a genuinely
noble character.
I enjoyed reading this novel because of Holden's language. His
familiar manner of
speaking helped me to associate and understand the characters'
personalities. As time went on, I
became more accustomed to his boyish word usage and slang language.
This type of writing
made the story more realistic on account that it is actually a rebellious
teenager telling the story.
Holden's manner of speaking helps to develop his character more
thoroughly.
The Catcher in the Rye's theme is "growing up and coming of
age". The story
communicates a message that someone should not fear or reject the future
(for Holden it was
adulthood), rather work to make it better and more appealing. This
message is very important to
me because I am in a time of my life that I have to make serious decisions
about my future, such
as college. Holden did not look forward to or want to accept his
life ahead of him, he was
disgusted and appalled by it. Although, at the end of the story he
does acknowledge that he needs
to accept his life. This theme is derived from Holden's character.
Holden represents the lost and
lonely adolescents that are searching for meaning and stability in their
life. There are many
teenagers in today's world that can relate to Holden's frame of mind.
Every teen has to face
adulthood and Holden's story displays the struggle some people have making
that change. High
school is a time when people face many obstacles in society and still must
"find themselves"
somehow. Holden is a character that many people can look up to
because he didn't change for
society or turn his head the other way. Holden stood up for what he
believed.
|
Bonnie
11th grade
Bowling Green, Ky/U.S. |
A Few Inches Away .
Father
A few inches away. He never fell apart, his strength never ceased to. He
never was restricted. Then comes the morning, as my father goes for his
business trip to Virginia, on a small 19-seater, a 19-seater plane to the
afterlife. He never had an excuse. A tough survivor. But was a few inches
away. His plane flies, as it was the turn of dusk, and the mountain
appeared. A few inches away. Crash, boom, lights out as he moves towards
the line. A few inches away. He crawled away, as the white bird turned
into a giant black crow of ashes and fuselage, a crow of fate. It burns,
the fire hell, torched, flames of wrath. Its mission failed. Father . a
few inches away. But alive.
My father fell and fractured his hip, but was not far from falling
awkwardly, to be paralyzed, to be burnt to ashes, a few inches away. And
still it haunts, the memory, the fear before he flies, like a malicious
spirit of darkness, lurking among a forest of memories. The spirit seemed
to destroy him after the accident, but a survivor did what he was to do -
survived. Falling apart like a water balloon, fallen on the ground and
destroyed, letting its strength, water, to disperse away from the soul.
Because it was but a few inches away from the line. A warrior who came
close, but revived from trauma. Although with a bad hip, unable to do the
physical activities from before, he does not act so. No excuses. It was
but another experience - I think it made him "unafraid to die"
perhaps, for he was so close to the line. His fear he utilizes as his
strength. The spirit only traces itself in his eyes once in the airport.
The spirit reminding him he was a few inches away, reminding me what I
could have lost. Someone who taught me how to deal. With life. With
problems. Now with trauma. Who taught me to reach my dreams through
whatever it takes, by telling stories of his immigration from a foreign
nation, to a new country, a new life, to find something. His hardships. My
hardships. I relate, and I am grateful for what I have, and the father I
have. |
Safiyy
10th grade
Congers, NY, USA |
| About the author of "Blank", Safiyy is a
10th grader in High School. He participates in soccer and track, as well
as other literary and math activities. He plays the viola, and enjoys
playing basketball in his spare time. |
Acid
Blazing light blinded Marvin as he woke up on a smooth,
hard floor that was giving him back pains. There was a sharp pain in the
back of his head and Marvin had a hangover and it seemed as if a dark,
rumbling thundercloud was brewing inside his head. He felt around his head
and found a bump on the back of it that was quickly swelling to the size
of a baseball.
"Where am I?" he thought as he staggered up and rubbed his eyes.
As his sea-green eyes focused, he saw that he was in the cul-de-sac of a
hallway with whitewashed walls that stretched as far as his eyes could see
in front of him. On the walls were paintings and other works of art. There
were enough of them for the hall to look like an art gallery.
"The last thing I remember is walking home. What the heck is going
on?" he thought with only mild interest and not fear, which was soon
to come.
Curious, the sandy-haired European who was part Irish,
which he knew, and part Ethiopian, which he did not know, stretched his
arms to feel the texture of the wall and his fingers met with the same
material that made up the floor. He looked closely at the pictures and
found that all the art works were by surrealists. There were even some
that he could recognize such as Dalí, and Miró. These bright, abstract
paintings contrasted sharply from the white walls and made the hall seem
grotesque and unreal. As he looked around with increasing curiosity and
anxiety, he noticed that he couldn't see the ceiling at all. To him it
seemed that the walls rose up well beyond what he could see. To infinity
and beyond.
Marvin, head spinning with confusion, started walking
out of the cul-de-sac with greater alarm building in his chest. Soon,
Marvin couldn't see the cul-de-sac anymore. He continued on in what seemed
like an unending hall filled with a countless number of dream-like art.
"Hello? Is there anybody out there?" yelled
Marvin with the edge of panic creeping on him. "Hello?"
He only heard the infinite echoing of his own voice.
Abruptly, Marvin could sense the faint smell of what
seemed like cheese, faintly spiced, and the corridor in front of him was
suddenly now winding and curvy where before the whole hallway was
straight. Strangely attracted by the smell, Marvin started trotting
forward, becoming more and more intoxicated by the smell. He began jogging
and soon he was running through glass-smooth corridor. Frenzied, he
ran past the corners without any notice of time or space and chose random
paths when forks came up. Abstract painting after painting flashed by him
in brief flashes of color. The pungent odor of cheese was getting stronger
with every step and soon was overwhelming all of his senses. Marvin could
now tell that the cheese was spiced with peppers and garlic. He ran toward
the smell until his lungs burned for air and his muscles screamed for
rest.
Suddenly, the hall fell dark and Marvin jerked to a
stop in the utter black emptiness.
"What the.? What's going on?"
Then he grunted as he felt a sharp pain in the back of
his head. The world went blacker still as Marvin fainted in the musty
scent of spiced cheese.
Marvin woke on a green, Formica table in a sterile,
white room with a sharp pain in the back of his head and a hangover, once
again. He groaned as he pushed himself up with his elbows and rubbed the
back of his head. There seemed to be a ridiculously big lump, about the
size of a grapefruit, beginning to rise on his head, which throbbed and
sent pain into his body with every pulsing thump.
"Where am I? Who are you?" with wary eyes
like that of a tortured and panicked animal, Marvin circled the table
which dominated the cavernous room. Like the hallways that he had just
come through, the walls were made of a solid, white material that was
smooth as glass. The only break in the monotonous white was the table,
Marvin, and the other man.
"I am called, Janus, the Keeper of Chronicles, by my people. Welcome
to my laboratory. Please, come into my study and sit. I will explain
there," said the silver-haired man as he gestured to a door that
Marvin had not noticed when he woke up. The Keeper had long, silver hair
that grew past his shoulder and was tied back with a golden band that went
around his above his ears. His skin was a sun-tanned bronze with a look of
youth that belied the silver hair. He wore a silvery gray robe, which was
lined with gold. The man was of no great stature yet he dominated the room
like a mountain. He dominated not with the threat of violence but with an
aura of infinite knowledge and wisdom. With steely, gray eyes, he beckoned
once more and strides across the room to the door.
Still wary, Marvin hesitantly followed the man through the doorway and was
met with a sight that astonished him. With sharply contrasting fluorescent
colors, the Keeper's study was furnished with yellow and green, plastic
chairs and shelves of well-polished, red plastic. The wallpaper was a mass
of swirled colors punctuated by abstract paintings. It was a 70's fashion
nightmare with garish paintings and sight-blinding colors. There was a
merry, green fire blazing in the blue octagon-shaped fireplace on the far
wall, and Marvin noticed that on the mantel of the fireplace were
blue-sand hourglasses of various sizes. The sand had run out on all of
them except for an immense one that was on the verge of running out.
"Please sit. Make yourself comfortable." Gesturing with his hand
to the yellow chair, Janus himself sat in the green armchair by the fire.
"When you walked in, you asked some questions. I have answered one
and now I will answer the other thoroughly. I have already said that this
is my laboratory, but it is also the storage area for all my experiments.
Those hourglasses on top of the mantel are timers set on each experiment
and as you can see all experiments are finished except for one. That one,
you see, is one of greatest importance to me and it is near time for the
final stage of the experiment."
"What's the experiment?"
"Well, you see one of the major components of the experiment was you,
Marvin."
"Me?" he asked with exceedingly greater alarm, his eyes
beginning to look like the eyes of a dumb, petrified deer that Marvin
himself had run over that morning.
"Yes, you were the main component since the whole experiment was
about you. You, young Marvin, have lived for thirty-years in my
artificially created environment where programmed psuedo-human beings
prodded you through different stages of the experiment. They prodded you
to behave well, to do well in school, to work until you became a zombie
with routines like an animal. Not with gentle, guiding prods but sharp,
cruel prods. They also were programmed to pile more grief, responsibility
and work until you became so depressed and desperate as to become slave to
money, alcohol, and drugs. This experiment was to see how far a man could
be pushed until he broke like that ripe watermelon you dropped yesterday.
That, Marvin, has been your life for thirty years."
Slack-jawed, Marvin stared at the Keeper with
disbelieving, green eyes for what seemed like an eternity but which was
only about ten seconds
"Really?" asked
the semi-European.
"Yes, I am sorry, Marvin, but it is true."
Marvin stared off into space for a few more moments and then turned to
look into the fire. The Keeper saw Marvin's shoulder's start shaking,
slightly at first but soon harder and harder. And soon the Keeper could
hear slight noise, which sounded like sobs. The Keeper's eyes began to
water with terrible regret. But then suddenly, Marvin fell out of his
chair and started laughing while rolling on the ground holding his
stomach.
"Oh, you're a riot! Oh, ha ha. You actually sounded serious!"
said Marvin as he wiped his eyes and struggled to stop his laughing.
The Keeper just sat and looked at the other man with sad, gray eyes.
Then, suddenly, screaming profanities left and right, pigs burst into the
room.
The fact that they were talking amazed Marvin yet he was amazed further by
the fact that the pigs were purple and were flying with wings attached to
their backs.
"Oh, my god! What are those things?" Marvin screamed as he hid
under his seat trembling with terror.
The Keeper and the pigs glared at Marvin with the expression that clearly
and sharply said, "Stop being rude!"
"Now, what can I do for you fellows?" said the Keeper with a
congenial expression.
"Yeah, well, you see, Keeper, this idiot over here just ate all of my
lab samples! I need some more to carry out the experiment," said the
pig with the yellow wings.
"Well, how the %@$# was I supposed to know that those were your
samples! You left them in the fridge!" ranted the pig with pink
wings.
"You, idiot! That fridge is specifically set aside for lab samples!
Just because you keep your lunch in there doesn't mean everything in there
is food, you greedy hog!"
"Slime-sucking bacon!"
" Son of a wild, uneducated boar! Mud-eating sausage!"
"Sausage! I've had enough of your name-calling, you little swine!
I'll teach you a lesson!" said the pig with pink wings that were
beginning to turn red.
The pigs flew straight at each other and began ripping into each other
with hoof and mouth. With feathers flying, they were involved in a brawl
so furious that individual pigs were indistinguishable and all that could
be seen was a mass of writhing, purple flesh and multicolored feathers.
During this whole ordeal, Marvin was crouching under his seat, still
trembling, and sobbing with fear, occasionally shouting random things such
as "Live in the trees!", "I'll get you, I'll get you in the
end.", "Fornicator!", "Soda pop!", "James
Arthur Prescott!", " Logarithms rule!",
"Elephants!", and "You can't pick a flower without jiggling
a star!"
Just then a short Russian with a bushy, white beard rushed into the room.
Waving his arms around, he said, "Ha! I've done it! Come and look
what my dog can do!"
"What can it do, Ivan?" asked the Keeper with an extremely
disinterested expression.
"If I show it a treat, it slobbers and when I ring
a bell, it slobbers too! It's the greatest revelation into human and
animal behavior! I'm a genius! Ha, ha, ha!" the mad white-bearded man
said as he raced around the room with his stuck out in front of him.
"Get out of here, would you? You're interrupting
my time with a client and moreover you're an imbecile! Dogs slobber all
the time! Next you'll be saying that people didn't evolve from pigs!"
The enraged Keeper bodily dragged the protesting man out and slammed the
door.
The Keeper shook his head and clicked his tongue with
exasperation as he firmly locked the door and turned around toward Marvin
again. As he turned, he saw the terrified and delirious form of the young
man cowering under the plastic chair.
"Oh, come out from under there! No one is going to
harm in any way, I assure you. Come. I need to talk to you."
Marvin slowly slid out from under the seat with only occasional muscle
twitches and spasms. Yet when he got to his seat, he sat hunched over and
crouched like a rabbit that found itself trapped in a cave with a bear.
"As I was saying, Marvin, for the past thirty
years you have been living in a experiment designed to find the test the
threshold of the breakdown of the human mind. However, funding has been
cut from my project so I can't carry on the experiment. This means that
you have no further use to me and therefore are free to depart into the
free world. I have to go on with my new experiments. Oh, wait until you
hear about them. In one of them, I get to make a whole planet full of
people like you and carry out the exact same experiment but on a greater
scale! Don't you think it's wonderful? I get a whole planet of people to
mess with! I think I'll have them call me God when I occasionally drop in.
Then I'll say some random stuff like, 'I offer eternal life,' and, 'Do
this in memory of me.' Then I'll have crazy men preach what I say to the
hoi polloi. It'll be great fun!" he said with brilliantly
twinkling eyes.
Marvin stared at the Keeper with a blank stare
that said, "Whah?"
"It means that you're a free man, Marvin. You're
free to go, but I can't support anymore. You're not the equivalent of a
fully evolved human being, but you're close enough to not stand out among
modern humans even though your intelligence is significantly if not
astronomically lower. You're free to go, Marvin. Goodbye, now."
The two pigs froze in midair at this and looked over at the pair of men
with deep interest.
"You mean you have a free primitive-human lab sample?" said the
pig with pink feathers.
"Yeah.why?" replied Janus with a suspicious look in his eyes.
"Get him, Pollux! I'll share him with you!" shouted the pig with
pink feathers as he sped towards Marvin with carnivorous fury.
"I call the brains and the heart, Castor!" shouted the pig with
yellow feathers with a ferocious glint in his eyes as he flapped
furiously.
"How come you get the good parts? I want the heart!"
"Shut up! You can get the liver and the eyes!"
"Really? I can get the eyes? Cool! He has green eyes! I've never had
green eyes before! Thanks, bro!"
With his green eyes wide open, Marvin stood up and then he froze. He
couldn't move a muscle and all he could think about was a calico cat,
sadly mewling, inside a box. In his mind, Marvin saw that inside the box
with the cat was a hypodermic needle on verge of injecting the cat with
clear, golden fluid. Somehow in his mind, Marvin knew that the cat was
dead even though it was mewling.
In a matter of seconds, the pigs simultaneously reached the sandy-haired
human and knocked him over the chair. As he fell over, Marvin felt
something hard hit his head sharply in the exact same spot as before and
room began to become dark. The last things of the crazy world he saw were
the two pigs sitting on him and grunting in his face. Darkness enveloped
him and he sank deep into the blackness.
Vision came back slowly, blurry and fuzzed with vague figures with two
bright eyes rushing past him.
"Where am I?" said Marvin as he staggered up from the cold, hard
cement. The first things he saw clearly were twinkling stars, which winked
at him with sardonic humor from the dark cloudless sky. As he rubbed his
eyes, he saw that it was the middle of the night and he was on the
sidewalk five blocks away from his apartment.
"Oh, not again! God, in heaven! Never again! I'm never going to mix
that *#&@^%$ stuff again!" said Marvin as he staggered towards
his apartment. As he passed a trash can, he threw out a brown bag that had
$300 dollars worth of acid inside. Marvin, the Irish/Ethiopian bum,
lurched and reeled off into the night. |
Andrew
10th grade
Glen Mills, PA, USA |
About the author of Acid.
I'm a immigrant from South Korea using English as my second language. This
is my first attempt at a publication though I've had the urge to do so
before. I wrote this for a class and found it to my liking and under the
encouragement of friends and family decided to submit it in various
places. |
For the Love of Books
From Whatever Happened to Janie, to Whirligig, there are so many
books that I have read this year but only one stick's out in my mind. Yes,
all of them were very good and well written, some were full of suspense,
and others were heartwarming. However, one magical book inspired me to
somewhat change for the better. It encouraged me to think about others and
to really love life for what it is. Stargirl has been my favorite book of
the whole year. Given to me by a very special person, who has also
motivated me to work hard and achieve my goals, this book I will cherish
for the rest of my life. As soon as I opened the book, I knew I was going
to be hooked. Every sentence I read was full of detail, but also it was an
account of a guys love for a girl that was different. He didn't care what
she wore or how she acted, he cared for her because of her kindness and
spirit. I loved this book because Stargirl is full of kindness, whether it
is writing a little note to someone, or singing to them on their birthday.
She cared, and that is a very rare thing. In reading such a great book, it
taught me a lesson- to be true to yourself and don't change for anyone no
matter what. Even when times got rough and no one liked her, she didn't
change. I was really happy when she didn't because she would have lost the
one true person who cared about her most, Leo. No matter what he was there
for her, and he knew how special she was. In the end the magic was
still there, unconditional love you would say. Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli
is a well-written book, full of inspiring detail and caring. So, never
change for anyone, because you may lose someone who really cares about
you, stay true to yourself and that's all that matters. |
Mollie
9th grade
Windermere, Florida |
| Mollie is a ninth grader at Windermere Preparatory School.
She loves to write any time and anywhere!! She started to write when she
was in the 5th grade and got hooked as the years went on. She has written
many stories, which at school, they are very popular to read! So go ahead,
hope you like it! |
"Dreaming
of Sneaking Cookies and Asking Questions"- an excerpt from DREAMS
OF LONG AGO
I held my tired old body upright as the priest rambled on about how
precious life was. Did he think I didn't already know that! I furiously
dabbed at the tears that threatened to spill. I let my mind wander as
words continued to come from the pulpit that I had learned long ago, when
I was still a girl.
I let myself remember the feel of his arms around my waist every morning
when he came downstairs for breakfast, leaving a lingering kiss on my
cheek before sitting down to pull on his boots. I would turn around and
dish some food onto plates moments before all the children would come
running downstairs. My eldest would be last, making sure that the youngest
didn't fall down the stairs. We would all sit down together, and say grace
before even sneaking a morsel.
There was always a constant, happy chatter going on in our home. I thanked
God for every minute of it, even when it was starting to try my nerves.
When we finished eating, Nate would help me clear the table before he went
outside. He would take me in his arms, every morning, and tell me he loved
me. And I would say it right back. We would smile at each other, and
exchange a quick look before tending to the children. Nate would take the
older boys out to help with whatever, and the girls and I would open the
windows, water the plants, and tend to the rather large garden that I
kept. If it was winter, we would make sure that everything was closed up,
to keep warmth in. I'd send them out
to play, and get started on the waiting dishes. As soon as they were done,
I'd have to tend to whatever odd job that was waiting before starting on
lunch.
By that time, the kids would have come back inside. At lunch,
everyone would say one thing that they were thankful for. When they were
little, the children would always be thankful for a new coat, or toy, or
for a cookie that I had let them sneak. As they got older though, it
changed. I would hear things like friends, family, the farm, a new book,
Mom and Dad. It never failed to touch my heart, and bring a smile to my
face, whatever it was. Nate and I never really participated in the ritual
until our youngest was about six. I could still hear the tiny voice.
"Momma, why don't you or daddy every say what you're thankful
for?"
I wasn't really sure how to answer that. I had told her that I was
thankful for little girls asking questions all the time, and little boys
who snuck cookies, and snuck out at night to avoid having to do the
dishes. I told that I was thankful for husbands who always managed to
mysteriously disappear whenever I needed them to fix something.
Nate had cleared his throat and looked pointedly at me. I merely smiled,
took a bite of my food, and asked the children what they had done that
morning. Later he had snuck up behind me, and picked me up like he used to
do when we were teenagers. As always, I had laughed and asked him to put
me down. He kissed me, and whispered in my ear "I love you."
I asked him what he wanted, laughing and really enjoying myself. He
grinned, and I knew exactly what was on his mind. I had playfully punched
him in the shoulder. "I love you," I had replied, and he put me
down to kiss me again. I remembered that I had felt exactly like I had
when I was fifteen, before I had gotten sick.
My mind wandered to when I had really woken up for the first time since
they had brought me home from school that day so very long ago when I had
been so very sick.
Daddy had been sitting by my bedside, his eyes half-closed as if he were
falling asleep. His hand was laying on the bed, palm up. I slipped my hand
into his, and squeezed it tight. His eyes slowly opened and looked at me.
I looked back at him, not knowing what to expect. I knew that he had been
there a lot while I had been sick.
"'Morning," he said.
I smiled, relived. He smiled back, and helped me sit up.
"'Morning, Daddy."
"There's someone who's been waiting to see you."
"Can I take a shower and change first?"
"You need to eat, too."
"I know. I'm hungry."
"You should be. You haven't eaten anything in over a week."
"Is that how long it's been?"
He nodded. "Your fever didn't start coming down until yesterday. Doc
Baker doesn't want you out of bed for another day or so."
"Can you help me up?"
I remembered how shaky my legs were. I didn't trust them at all. Momma had
to help keep me standing while I stood under the hot, soothing water. I
had felt so much better after that. It had been amazing. While I had been
getting cleaned up, the boys changed my sheets, and when they finally let
me see Nate, Momma went downstairs to make me breakfast. He insisted on
staying while I ate. Which I really hadn't minded, since I wanted company
of some kind.
Five years later we married, and lived with his parents until we found a
place of our own, just down the road. Our first baby had been born the
following spring. I had borne nine children, and only seven of them lived
past their first three weeks.
Those babies that hadn't made it nearly killed me. I had loved them so
much, wanted them with all my heart. We agreed after that that it would be
wiser not to have anymore children, as much as we both wanted them.
My brothers and sisters visited us constantly, even after some of them
moved to the city. Chris eventually had a family of his own, still living
at home even after all those years. He inherited the farm that we'd both
grown up on, and now it was his son who ran it, even though he and his
wife still lived there. Charlie bought the Thomson's old farm, and he too
had a family of his own. Bryan eventually moved back to Denver, never
really adapting to farm life.
We never really heard much from Sam, but we knew that he was a sports
coach somewhere.
Every fourth of July, we would have a big family reunion. I loved it.
Everyone would bake and bake and bake, and we'd bring everything over to
the farm we'd all grown up on. There would be dogs, kids, sheep, chickens
and stories running all over the place. Joe would have come in from
wherever it was that he had been training, and we would find him already
up and dressed at seven after having run for an hour and a half already.
Laura would turn off her cell phone, more than eager
to take a break from doctoring sick patients in the city, and Greta would
have her family home from the small town that had always tortured me.
Momma and Daddy would sit out on the porch, greeting everyone, and giving
out hugs, kisses, and pats on the back.
Charlie's family would walk across the two farms, and Nate and I would
bring our kids over on an ancient wagon that everyone always got a kick out
of. It was funny even to us; it was also an old joke. Long ago, Joanna had
told me once that she wouldn't be surprised at me if I came into town one
day driving a horse and wagon. I told her that horses normally didn't pull
wagons, that oxen did. She rolled her eyes, and Kate and I simply looked
at each other and laughed.
The reunions were always a long, loud, noisy, fun occasion, and relatives
always had stayed in town for days afterwards. Joe would have dinner at
our place a few times, telling the children all about the famous athletes
he would meet all the time. I always made sure I told him how proud of him
I was. He never really considered himself my brother, no matter how many
times I told him as much. Everyone considered us all family, and grouped
us together as such. Kate would show up for a while to visit and it was a
tradition that she sit by Joe, and drop hints. I'm not sure if he ever
realized what was going
on. I thought about the day I finally told him. He smiled a goofy smile,
and told me he would see me later. I found out that he went to see Kate,
and they had a long talk. A few years later, they got married, and
traveled around the world for years and years. Now they live in town, and
Joe writes about his career as a gold medallist Olympic athlete. I have
been proud of him every moment of every day since he took that first step
of finding a coach all those years ago.
Even then, he had his doubts about himself, although I don't think he ever
really got over them.
I thought back to our days in the publications lab. The short,
balding teacher whose name I could not remember for the life of me
anymore, and Kate and I sending 'illegal messages' using the ancient
message system. Our senior year I had been senior editor, which had been a
huge honor, considering most townsfolk didn't trust my ability any farther
than they could throw me. Although I think for most of them that wouldn't
be a problem, considering that after my illness I had never weighed very
much, until our first child. And even after that, my weight had gone back
down considerably. I could never figure
it out. But, it never seemed to be a big deal, so we never even thought
about it.
I thought about when we had slept under the stars as kids. Chris and Joe
would build a bit of a shelter using marbles, a cotton canvas, a few
sizable sticks, and some rope. We spread a few quilts on the ground, with
a few blankets in case we got cold. The last time I did that was when I
was seventeen. Chris had just come home from college for summer, and Nate
and I were thinking about getting engaged. We had just graduated from high
school, and Bryan was about three years old. He had curled up with me, and
I had been thinking about a future life while gazing at the stars. I had
one arm around the small child, and he nestled closer to me, making me
smile. I thought about the things that had been said to me while I was
sick when people thought I hadn't been listening.
I smiled, thinking of all the various confessions. My favorite was
Charlie's. He'd been so small at the time that he didn't understand about
being sick. He told me, in his three-year-old's slurred speech that he had
climbed up on the kitchen table and eaten some cookies that I had made a
few days before I had gotten so sick. He thought that because he had done
something he wasn't supposed to, I had gotten sick. He never snuck cookies
without asking again. Or climbed on the kitchen table.
The preacher finished the sermon, and looked down at me to say a few
words. I got up, and shuffled my tired old bones up into the pulpit.
I looked out over the faces that were so familiar to me. I smiled, and
cleared my throat. "I want to thank you for being here. It would mean
a lot to Nate to know that there are so many people who have cared about
him. Even if he would never admit it." I smiled. "I have to
admit that I haven't
been listening to much of the service this morning." I felt tears
start to run down my face. "I haven't been able to keep my mind off
of the wonderful life that I've had with everyone in this room, and
everyone who isn't. The most wonderful memories that I have include all of
you, whether you know it or not. I've been sitting here thinking. Thinking
about all those years ago when we used to sleep under the stars during the
summer. When we worked together in the publications lab in the same school
that my grandbabies go to. I've been thinking about the time I got so sick
when I was fifteen. I remember that Charlie had been so afraid that he
was the reason I
had gotten sick, because he had climbed on the kitchen table and snuck
some cookies that I had baked a few days before. He couldn't have been
more than three or four then.
"I can remember when I first knew that Nate and I would spend the
rest of our lives together. I can even remember a few dreams about it. In
one of them, we died together. But I know now that it's just a dream. A
hope that neither of us will have to live without the other. We've never
really done it before. Even when we were kids, we were just twenty
minutes' walk from each other."
I paused again to compose myself. It just wouldn't do to break down in
front of all these people. "Ninety-eight years I have lived here. And
all of those ninety-eight years I have been proud of every single person
in this room. Joe and his amazing career, Momma and Daddy, God rest their
souls, who took care of us all no matter what. Chris, Laura, Greta,
Charlie, Bryan, and even Sam who never gave us a by-your-leave when he
left. I'm proud of my family for who they are, and everything they're
done. I'm proud of them for who they are. I'm
proud of my friends for being true friends. For being there when we needed
them. Like when my sixth got so sick... You took in my older ones like
they were your own until... "I trailed off.
"I'm proud of you all, and Nathan was too. We love you all with all
of our hearts." I paused to dab at my eyes. "I've learned
something over the years. I've been searching my memory for every time he
said 'I love you', and every time he did something to surprise me. It's
all like a dream. I can remember some small, specific details, and in
other memories I can picture everything perfect, but others are no more
than a blur. A million dreams. But the one thing that is holding
them all together is love. It's a love that goes beyond any distance. It's
a love that endures beyond time, and beyond death. I can't quite explain
it, but I'm not sure that it's meant to be explained in words." Tears
were streaming down my tired old face now, but I didn't care.
"Partings are never forever. Forever is a long time. I won't be
without him for long. I'm an old lady. I'll have to live without him for a
little while, but it's not forever." I was saying it more to comfort
myself than anything else. I closed my eyes for a second. "He
wouldn't have wanted any crying. And he wouldn't have wanted a big show,
either. Nate was always one for simplicity. He always told me to say what
I wanted to say, do what I wanted to do, and not make a big fuss over it.
So I'm trying to follow his advice right now. Partly because I already
miss him, and partly because I know he's right. He's been right for the
past 83 years.
"I've seen people die, I've seen babies enter this world, and I've
seen them grow up and have their own babies. I know how quickly life can
move, and I know that the Lord doesn't always let us know what He's about
to do. He has said that my husband's time is up, just as He told my
brother Chris and his wife. He told Momma and Daddy to join him, and He
told Nate's parents that long ago. He told Nate's brother that, and He
told my two babies they weren't meant to stay here. He told our friend
Peter that long ago when he went on that mission trip, God rest his soul.
You never know what The Lord has in
store for us. So I want to tell you, while everyone is here, that I love
you all. I love my children, and my grandbabies, and my great-grandbabies.
I love all my nieces and nephews, and great-nieces and great-nephews, and
all my cousins, and second cousins, and twice-removed cousins. I love all
my children by marriage, and all my brother and sister in-laws. I love all
the friends and neighbors who have been there over the years, and you will
never know how much you are to me. I love you all, and I am so, so very
proud of you. Everyone in this room is my life. And I wouldn't have it any
other way. Not for anything in the world." As I stepped down, I felt
a
feeling of love in me that was characteristic of only one person.
And he was so, so very proud of me. |
Anne
10th grade
Virginia Beach, Virginia |
About the author of "Dreaming of Sneaking Cookies and
Asking Questions"...
Anne lives in Tidewater, Virginia, on the Chesapeake Bay. She is a
high school sophomore, and in her spare time can be found either singing,
running on the beach, writing, or volunteering at church or Children's
Hospital in Norfolk, VA. |
| The Doomed Romance
The cold wind blew over McPike Manor. You could feel the icy
chill of the wind and the touch of warmth from the cabin fires. You
could hear the slaves singing in the quarters and the horses' neighing.
In the upstairs window, Mistress was telling her daughter what to wear for
the evening. The sitting room was full of men talking about politics
and the possibility of war. The band was warming up for the dance
and the carriages creak into the carriage house. There was only one
problem with this scene: these events happened more than one hundred and
fifty years ago. That is because old McPike Manor is haunted
with the souls belonging to the time before the Civil War.
It is now June 14, 1999. It is a beautiful summer day and the
forecast for tonight is mild and clear. A bad night we would say
here in Hegch, a night for spirits to preside over our town. You may
think it is queer, but I have gotten used to it.
No one ever goes near the manor at night because the spirits are still
there dancing and enjoying the night before the war began and terror
spilled down on the manor. Some of the villagers' descendents still live
here in Hegch, Virginia. In order to understand the strange
happenings you must know the history of the manor. So all you
skeptics, get out your notebooks! I will take you to a world you
will never forget.
Down the stairs came Mrs. O'Keefe. She had to make sure things were
perfect for tonight's dance. It simply would not do to be anything
but perfect. She knew it more than anyone else did because it was her only
daughter's coming-of-age dance. Closing her eyes, she fondly
remembered her own coming-of-age dance. She recalled the look on
everyone's faces as she came down the stairs in a beautiful gold-silk
dress.
"Those were the years," she thought to herself. Now
opening her eyes, she realized how much work needed to be done and
practically flew to the kitchen to check on the food.
Outside, Mr. O'Keefe was instructing the horse slaves on how the carriages
should be put away. His wife kept saying how important tonight was
so rather than ignite her temper; he simply did what he was told. Of
course, he knew it was an important day for his little girl, but he could
not understand why his wife was in a tizzy and his daughter was not.
"It must be what all mothers do," he muttered to himself.
"All right. The first carriage will go there, this one
here."
Ellen slowly tiptoed into Margaret's room. She had only been gone
for a second, but she did not want Margaret any more excited than she
already was. Ellen almost wished she were white so she could share
in her best friend's dance.
"What do you think of the dress?" Margaret asked Ellen.
"Beautiful. Imagine: blue silk all the way from France! I
would not know what to do with such finery," Ellen answered in
an excited voice. "Wait until Mr. Ford gets to see you! I
think his lip will drop to the very floor!"
"Really? Do you think so? That would be very funny if you
think about it. Anyone's mouth dropping at the sight of me."
She turned her head toward the looking glass and gazed thoughtfully at her
reflection. "Maybe, Karl Ford will think I am beautiful
tonight. Mother said that she met her first beau at her
coming-of-age dance, but that was ages ago! Everything has
completely changed by now!" She thought to herself.
Behind her, she heard the creaking of her door opening as her mother
entered the room. It was time to greet the guests. Margaret
silently rose and followed her mother out of the room. Ellen
whispered a good luck as Margaret passed her. Down the stairs, she
ascended, to a mass of people who gazed at her with approving smiles.
Margaret scanned the room for her escort. Suddenly she felt a hand
on her arm. A soft hello was whispered into her ear as she stepped
off the landing.
"Good." she thought, "Now everyone will stop staring at me
and go back to their regular criticism of everyone else."
"How do you fare today, Mistress Margaret? I hope you are well.
I also hear that many beautiful birds come out on nights such as
these." Karl Ford said to Margaret. He saw the laughter in her
eyes as she recognized his secret meaning.
"Indeed, I am quite well. Where would we find such birds?
Would they be out in the fields or the orchards, would you say?"
Margaret asked with a big grin on her face.
"Yes, I do believe that we could find them in the orchard.
Would you care to go look for them?"
"I suppose I should go and see them while they are still out.
Lead the way to the orchard, Mr. Ford." As Margaret and Mr. Ford
walked out onto the veranda, Ellen handed Mistress Margaret her shawl.
Margaret nodded in approval. Ellen watched from the kitchen as they
walked out to the orchard. Finally, Ellen could go back to the
quarters.
"It really is beautiful out here. Mother couldn't have picked a
better day for the dance. I love being sixteen. It is a new
kind of feeling to be grown up," Margaret said.
"Well, I am glad you are enjoying it. You look wonderful in
that dress."
"How can you see it if we are in the dark?"
"Exactly," Karl said as he reached down to kiss Margaret. It was
wonderful! Nothing could ruin tonight after this.
Back inside the house, Mrs. O'Keefe was wondering where her daughter had
gotten. Mrs. O'Keefe was looking all over the place for her while
she was talking to her guests.
"Excuse me one moment. I promise I will be right back."
Mrs. O'Keefe said to Mrs. O'Connor. Mrs. O'Keefe decided the only place
she had not looked was outside. As she stepped out on to the
veranda, she saw two figures standing together by the orchard. As
the got closer to the house, Mrs. O'Keefe called to them. "Margaret
is that you? Who are you with, my child?"
"Mrs. O'Keefe? I am sorry for stealing you daughter away.
She was looking flushed so I escorted her outside. I will bring her
inside right away." Karl called to Mrs. O'Keefe.
"Karl? I thought you were someone else. It is fine, but
please do not let her catch a chill. We would not want her to catch
fever, now would we?"
"Of course not, Mrs. O'Keefe. I assure you she is in good
hands."
"Yes, of course," Mrs. O'Keefe turned around and went back into
the house.
"It is a good thing my mother knows you or I fear we would have been
in a conflict." Margaret turned toward Karl. She gazed into his deep
brown eyes and saw a light so beautiful it was indescribable.
"Our lives will be perfect in time," Karl said as they sat down
on the back steps.
"It is just a matter of time."
"I know. But the talk of war scares me. I don't know what
I would do if ." Her voice trailed off.
"That is not for you to worry about. War will not come.
No one really wants war. Everything will be all right. Lets
not worry about that now. After all, this is your party and I fear I
have kept you out to long." He slowly stood up and bowed.
"May I have the honor of the first dance of the evening, Mistress
Margaret?" He turned his head up a little to see her smile as
she stood up.
"Of course you may." Margaret said as she took hold of Karl's
out-stretched arm and strolled back into the house with him.
The other people watched as Karl and Margaret joined in the waltz.
"What a perfect couple they make" was passed around by word of
mouth. Everyone was talking about how mature Margaret was and how
Karl had grown up to be a fine young man. Karl and Margaret's eyes
remained only on each other as they danced. They could not hear the
noise of the kids or the praises of the grown-ups. All they could
see, feel, touch and think about was each other. It was a wonderful
kind of love that only occurs in fairy stories.
The hours passed in a flicker of enjoyment. Regretfully, the dance
came to an end. Just before Karl was about to leave with his sister, he
walked out on to the veranda with Margaret's hand in his.
"Would you like me to visit on Thursday?" Karl asked Margaret.
"Why wouldn't I?" Margaret said smiling
"I don't know. You women change your minds a lot."
"That is so mean. I am not like that." She gave him
a small shove.
"Oh, really?" He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her in
a way that she's never been kissed before. She was almost upset when
it ended. As soon as it was over, he ran to the carriage house to
bring his older sister home, glancing back at her in the moonlight.
The night had been so perfect and Mrs. O'Keefe could see it on her
daughter's face. Karl Ford had given her a lot of attention tonight.
Perhaps there was an engagement in their futures. Would that not be
wonderful? Of course it would! Everything would work out just
right and Margaret and Karl would inherit the plantation. Mrs.
O'Keefe could not have planned it better herself.
Upstairs in Margaret's room, Ellen was helping Margaret get ready for bed.
The sun had long since gone down but for Margaret, the Karl's sunlight
could keep her awake all night.
"You must be very tired. I will talk to you in the morning.
Good night, Mistress Margaret." Ellen quietly tiptoed out of
the room.
"Good night, Ellen," Margaret said in a very sleepy voice.
"Good night."
After the party, Karl came to see Margaret more and more often. One
day, October 4 to be exact, would prove to be the most delicious of days.
The dawn was the most beautiful purple and the sun seemed to glow with a
new light as Karl and Margaret rode to Claver's Glen. They raced
almost the whole way there and were fairly tired upon arriving. Karl
jumped off his horse and ran to help Margaret dismount. Karl smiled
at Margaret as he gently set her on the ground.
"Well, should I get out the picnic basket?" Margaret
asked.
"No, I am not hungry just now. Why don't we go down to the
stream?" Karl had replied while taking hold of her hand.
They were silent as they hiked down the streambed. When they
got to the lake at the end of the stream, they stopped.
"I have been thinking a lot lately. If there is a war, I will
have to go," Karl solemnly said to Margaret. She was about to
let out a sound of protest, but Karl put his finger to her lips.
"I want to be sure that you know how I feel. I do not want war
to come because the thought of leaving you brings misery to my very soul.
I can't live without you. I need you in my life. I love
you."
"Margaret Ann O'Keefe, will you be my bride?" he asked
quietly as he looked into her eyes.
"Yes, Karl. We were put on this Earth to be together."
A feeling of overwhelming delight came over both of them.
Mrs. O'Keefe was overjoyed when she heard of her daughter's engagement,
not that she did not already know of course. Mr. O'Keefe had told
her last night of his conversation with Karl. It had taken all the
strength she had to keep her mouth shut. Finally, Mrs. O'Keefe had a
wedding to plan, Mr. O'Keefe would have a son-in-law, and everything would
be as in should be. That is if, only if, the war did not come.
What were they thinking? Not two weeks before the wedding did war
come. What were they to do now? Karl was summoned to fight in
the army. What could they do? Mrs. O'Keefe wanted them to get
married immediately, but Margaret did not know what to do. Karl knew
he had to go, but how could he leave his true love now? All he
wanted was to be with her. He needed to talk to her and she needed
to talk to him.
He realized he could not avoid the subject and took her out for a ride to
the same stream where he had proposed.
He did not speak for a long time and when he did it was only to say her
name.
"Margaret," he said with out looking at her, "this is a
difficult time for us. I have realized that no matter how unfair it
is, I must go fight with my comrades. I really don't know what to
do. I want more than anything else in the universe to stay here with
you, but I feel if I don't do something, I will have failed you."
"Karl, that is not true at all! You could never fail me.
I love you unconditionally. Nothing can ever stop me from loving
you. No matter what you do or don't do." Margaret could
barely keep the tears from her eyes, but she said this all in a strong
voice. She was relieved when Karl looked her with longing in his
eyes. After seeing this, she too began to cry. It would be
more than they could bear to be apart, but somehow they would survive.
"Margaret", he said after the sadness of the moment had ended,
"I will always love you. Nothing can stop that. After
this war is over, will you still consent to be my wife?"
"Karl, nothing will ever, ever stop me from being your wife. I
am yours for all eternity," Margaret said in a voice that spoke of
all the love she had.
Karl went into the war on September 15, 1861. It was a horrible day
at McPike Manor. Margaret was making sure that everything was ready
for Karl's departure. She silently cried as she put together a small
satchel, but she wanted him to be prepared for anything. Karl was
outside in the barn, saddling his horse. It was only a few hours before
sunrise, a time that used to bring happiness, which turned into a painful
sight of loneliness, the time that Karl would have to leave.
Margaret slowly stepped out onto the veranda, the satchel in her arms.
Karl had tied up his horse to a pole near the house and came toward the
house. He could not bear to speak for fear he would upset his
beloved. He stared at her for a moment, before she ran to him. He
wrapped his arms around her, taking in the smell of her hair and the
warmth of her arms around him. He would remember them while he was
in the bitter heat of battle. The strength of her love could keep
him alive. He held her for one more moment, before realizing the
inevitable. He kissed her quickly, grabbed his satchel, and jumped
onto his horse. He began galloping, but glimpsed back for one more
look at the manor and his lovely Margaret before riding away.
Margaret watched until Karl was out of sight before walking back in the
house. One small tear trickled down her face.
Days passed by so slowly now. It was as if everyone was in a trance.
Karl wrote Margaret almost every day, pages and pages of his doings as
well as those of his comrades. She would sit on the bed and read
over her favorite parts of his letters.
Monday, August 30, 1862
It was a funny day; Greg fell in the pond and had a crab bite his nose.
It is looks like an apple. Days are boring without you. I long to see
your face. I suppose you have a new beau by now who adores you.
I envy him.
Do you really have a new beau? I would like to be informed on my
fiancé's doings.
Love, Love, Love,
Karl
She looked forward to his letters like as child looks forward to his
birthday. Letters were everything to her. The days marched on
until June 13, 1864. It had been filled with cleaning and
sewing. She had been working diligently on a coat for Karl to wear
during the winter months. The cloth had come from an old dress of
hers because cloth was becoming scarce. She felt it was more than
worth it.
Her mother had gone to town so she was home by herself. A light
tapping fell on the front door. Margaret rose to answer it.
Standing outside was a young man in his early twenties holding an
envelope. He cautiously handed the envelope to Margaret before
running away. Margaret was a little bewildered, but she opened the
envelope. Inside were a letter and a small piece of paper. It read:
Lieutenant Karl Ford has been critically wounded. We wish to inform
you that there is no chance of recovery. Please express our deepest
sympathy to the family. Long live the Confederacy!
Margaret stumbled backwards. She slowly sank to the floor, the world
began to darken like storm clouds before a hurricane. But before the
world became the most uncompromising color of black she whispered but one
word in a weak voice, " Karl."
When her mother came home later, she found her daughter lying on the
veranda without any signs of life. She immediately had the two
farmhands bring her in the house. She tried as hard as she could to
breath life into her beautiful child. But in the early morning hours
of June 14, 1864, Margaret breathed her last. Mrs. O'Keefe had lost
her daughter. Her only child was gone.
Mrs. O'Keefe went outside to see the sunrise after Margaret's death.
As she was about to sit down and let her feelings take over, she glimpsed
an envelope on the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, she saw
what she knew to be Karl's handwriting. Carefully opening the letter
she found a note from Karl to Margaret.
Friday, May 28, 1864
Dearest Margaret,
My good companion Greg died this morning from a gunshot wound. I am
now without a friend to confide in. It will be very difficult to
give his family this terrible news. He still had so much life to
live. How I wish I could go back in time and save him. I have seen
so very much horror here on the battlefield, which I will not describe to
you.
I miss you in a way that I cannot describe either. I want to be able
to hold you and be there with you, to tell you that I am staying here,
that I will never be separated from you again. You are the only
thing that keeps me going in this war. Do you know that I remember
every conversation that we ever shared? I know everyone of them and
can tell you of all the wonderful things we talked about and the way I
felt and how much you mean to me. Why can't this war end now so I can see
your lovely face? They should not make me stay away from you so long.
It should be against the law to keep me from you. I will come home,
I promise. No power on Earth will ever stop me from coming home to
you.
I dream about the wedding. I can see you in at beautiful dress as
pure and white as a rose. As you walk down the aisle towards me, I
turn to see your glittering face. I know that everything will be wonderful
forever in that one moment. When the preacher says that we are
married, I feel the most breathtaking happiness.
I dream about our future home every night too. I can see a
lovely white house with a sky blue veranda. You made beautiful
scarlet curtains for the windows and nothing is ever out of place.
Our days float on unseen wings filled with pleasure. We have two
children, a boy and a girl. I know that made you blush. I love
it when you blush; it makes me want to kiss your darling face. I
know I am torturing myself with these dreams, but thinking about things
such as these keeps me going.
I must go now, my precious. I will write more about our future in my
next letter. I hope that you have enjoyed this one, and you feel a
little less lonely. I love you more than life. Good night, my
beloved.
Love always and forever,
Karl
Mrs. O'Keefe began to cry because she understood her daughter's undying
happiness. Karl had loved her so much. At least they would be
together. A wedding in heaven is the best in the world. Her
daughter would always have her true love; she would never be without him.
Mrs. O'Keefe whispered a silent prayer before letting the letter fall
peacefully to the ground.
On April 2, 1865, a tall, bedraggled man walked up the lane to McPike
Manor. He stood for a long time just looking at the house.
Mrs. O'Keefe was a little scared seeing the stranger and cautiously walked
outside.
"Hello," she said in a strong voice. "May I help
you?" The man looked up. As Mrs. O'Keefe stared into the
eyes of the stranger, memories flooded her head. She knew those
eyes. It was impossible. He could never come back. He had
died. Could it be?
"Mrs. O'Keefe," the stranger whispered. In an instant,
Mrs. O'Keefe recognized the voice of the happy young man she used to know.
Karl was home! Karl was home, but Margaret was not here to greet
him. How could she tell him the horrible truth? She ran and grabbed
him. She held him as though she had never seen him alive while
avoiding the truth as long as she could, but before she could say a word
Karl asked where Margaret was.
"Karl. How Margaret wished she could see you. Had she known
that you were alive, maybe she would not have. She wanted to see you
more than anything. She loved you more than life too. I am
sure she is here somewhere, listening and loving you. She wanted to
be with you so much. She could not wait to be your wife.
Remember? She was teeming with happiness when you asked her to be
your wife. She would have given anything to be your wife.
I know that had she known you were going to live, she would have done
something." Mrs. O'Keefe released Karl and turned away, tears
of happiness and sadness running down her face.
'Oh Karl. See how this war has changed you and her? It can
never be the way it was before," she continued with her back turned
to him.
"Mrs. O'Keefe, what has happened? Where is she? Why
are you crying? Where is my Margaret? Why is she not here?
Where did she go? What are you talking about?" Karl asked
in a rush of words.
"Karl," she said as she turned to him, "Margaret is
gone."
"What are you saying?" Karl began again.
Mrs. O'Keefe began to tremble. "She is. She is. She is gone to
heaven."
"Mrs. O'Keefe," the words came out painfully, "is. my
beautiful Margaret? No! She can't be. No! You are
lying. I don't believe you. She can't be gone. We were
supposed to be together! No one could have stopped that!"
He continued to break down in a mess of words.
"Why, Mrs. O'Keefe, why?" Tears began to fall from his
face. "Why did this happen? You must tell me! I need to
know why this happened."
Mrs. O'Keefe went into the house and came back a few minutes later holding
a small piece of paper. She slowly handed it to Karl. It was
the notice from the army about Karl's injury. As Karl read the
notice, he put his hand over his face.
"She never read your letter. All she saw was the notice.
It was more than she could bear to be apart from you. She became
very ill, very quickly. It was not painful for her. She wanted
to be with you in Heaven rather then without you on Earth."
Mrs. O'Keefe put her hand on his shoulder. At least Karl knew the
truth. War may bring peace, but it does not bring happiness.
Many people ask me how I can tell so much about McPike Manor. It is
not a question of telling, but a question of knowing. The only
answer I can give to that question is my name. I am Ellen Margaret
O'Keefe, Ellen's great, great granddaughter. |
Rachel
9th grade
Bay Shore, New York |
| My name is Rachel. I am 14 years old and love to
write. This is my first time writing a short story for others.
I have, however, written 3 novels for my friends to read. I hope you
all enjoy my writing. |
Book Review on
Armageddon Summer
"The world will end on July 26."
This is an undisputable fact for those who are true Believers. Jane
Yolen and Bruce Coville have written a novel in journal format called
Armageddon Summer. We see into the personal lives of two teenagers,
Jed and Marina who are not sure what to think when their parents decide to
join a fanatical group of people called the Believers. The
Believers, led by Reverend Beelson, are getting ready for the end of the
world in a great conflagration. Only one hundred and forty four people
will be saved on the top of Mount Weeupcut. Reverend Beelson says that God
has decided that only the Believers will be saved and will start the world
anew.
Marina's mom wants Marina to also believe in Armageddon, but does so
through force and bitter tactics. Marina wants to believe in something,
but she is not sure what. The Mother-child relationship is an important
theme in this novel. The only reason Jed is on the mountain is to
watch over his father, another Believer. Jed believes that his father is
just there to get his life together after his wife left him. It isn't that
Jed's dad told him to believe; it's that Jed wishes he could believe.
While Marina's mom and Jed's dad are true Believers, Jed and Marina aren't
sure what they think. Is it possible that the world will end in fire and
only a few people will be saved?
The main theme of this book is actually a question: Should you be forced
to believe what your parents believe? That is a question you will have to
answer by yourself. Yolen and Coville team up to write incredibly
introspective and contemplative book. Read this paperback and find
out how two people asked themselves this question and fought to find an
answer. |
Rachel
9th grade
Bay Shore, NY |
| My name is Rachel. I am 14 years old. I enjoy
writing and i like to play sports. I want to be a teacher when I get
older. |
A stream of consciousness
Paranoia is all I can sense,
Crushing me into a white picket fence.
Looking over my shoulder,
My feelings all getting boulder.
My fear is getting smaller,
My anger just stronger.
I feel I'm going to explode,
Into a dusty cloud of rage.
My heart with slowly corrode.
Into a red slimy decay.
No love do I feel,
Yet hatred so real.
So real that makes me shake,
Into a smile that is so fake.
So fake that makes me cry,
For every word I say is a lie.
The lies that made me slaughter,
The love of me to any other.
The love that turned to indifference.
The indifference that I recent.
For I'm no longer human,
I'm no longer real,
I'm no longer a loving woman,
And I no longer feel. |
Vikki
9th grade
D.F., Venezuela |
| Tiny Shoe
Red and orange lights flash furiously,
Screams resound off the still,
Lifeless summer air,
And a two-year-old boy
Lies dead,
Having succumbed to nature's worst nightmare;
The baby's body is taken away,
His soul has moved to another world,
Traumatized neighbors go inside their homes,
And all that remains
Of the innocent little child,
Is a tiny shoe lying on the road,
Shoelaces undone,
Spots of blood staining the white,
As a mother's cries are heard in the distance,
And the tiny shoe remains lifeless,
A memory of a loved child,
Defenseless on the road. |
Kaitlin
9th grade
Mississauga, Ontario, Canada |
I was inspired to write this particular poem when i was in
my car one day, and spotted a tiny white shoe lying on the
road, on its side. It obviously belonged to a toddler, and the image
just stuck with me, and kept coming
back until i eventually wrote about it...and it still inspires me to this
day! I hope you like it!!
Stay strong, and keep smiling! Always!!! |
Just For You
You have the most beautiful eyes,
Like no eyes I've seen before,
I just wish that I could see,
Everything that you do,
And how precious you think of me.
I like to see you happy,
It makes everything worthwhile,
But when you don't return the love,
I seem to lose my smile,
I may be smiling,
On the outside of me,
But what is smiling on the outside
If the inside isn't free?
I know that you love me,
You've said it plenty times,
Please show it to me
And it will make me feel fine.
I need you so much,
And you need me too,
We can solve all our problems,
And I'll be everything,
Just for you. |
Maryam
10th grade
Sydney, Australia |
About the author of "Just For You"
I'm 15, and I live in Sydney, but I'm from New Zealand. I love to write
poems, if you have any comments, then please email me at <removed>
|
| On the edge
Feet on the edge,
arms opened wide.
Nothing held back,
nothing to hide.
Feet off the ground,
falling head first.
Wishing for the best,
but dreading the worst.
I fell for you,
like no one before.
You gave me wings,
so I could soar.
I closed my eyes,
and let everything go.
I love you more,
than you shall ever know. |
Heather
11th grade
St. Pete, Florida |
Midnight
midnight finds your thoughts of death
and what the world used to be.
in-between the cracks of your
numb beliefs you find the reminiscence
of what it was like to love me
and to love yourself and life even more.
and in-between your hate and
declarations of tragic defeat.....
is your love, still residing quietly,
pondering when to break
into the thick, intense wave of
what it used to be.
|
Irena
10th Grade
Florida |
Earth's Soul speak
say it isn't so
the moon glows
the sun knows
the grass peaks
the birds greet
the stars shine
peace of Mine
love is kind
never lies
God's present
heaven-sent
me, I'm spirit-lit
sufficient grace
beautiful Earth
spring is reborn
spring is rebirth
green leaves
blue skies
purple violets
new lives |
Tameka
10th grade
Saint Louis, Missouri, United States |
| Tameka, a 15-year-old, loves playing the piano, drawing,
singing, and serving God. She hopes to become a graphic
artist, and maybe later, release a book comprised of the 60 poems she has
wrote since age 12. She believes poetry is best when it is
used as a outlet of self-expression, and a inlet of self-healing. |
Anger
You came upon me like
A big red blanket
Suffocating and confining
Never letting go
I lose control
Now you control me
And my actions are not mine
Never easing up
Somebody please help
This solitary confinement
With only one visitor
Is too much
|
Maura
8th grade
Dover, MA, United States of America |
| Eternity
Dancing...or so-called dancing. The bodies were crashing against each
other, jumping everywhere, most were high or drunk, and the band wasn’t
even good. I didn’t want to be there, but Eva, my friend, coerced me. My
face was caked with Eva’s unnecessary make up and I felt naked in my
halter top and leather mini skirt, I was glad I had a long black jacket
on, but it was getting trampled on in the crowd. I was getting really hot,
so I pulled myself out of the crowd and sat on the dirty, cold stone
floor- alone. Somewhere along the line, I lost Eva in the crowd, but at
this point I didn’t care. I just wanted out of the hot mass of people
and into the open, semi-fresh air.
Looking around, I saw only two outlets to the outside world, and both
were locked! I felt the panic rise up in me, but before it could erupt I
took a deep breath and told myself to be calm. I said aloud "Why are
the doors locked? They’re trying to keep us in! Damn bastards!!" I
was very angry at this realization. "Wait..no...They wouldn’t keep
us in here. Would they? Perhaps they’re closed just keep outsiders out
side..." At this, I sat back down and closed my eyes. The band
stopped playing, all I heard was clapping and gibberish from the crowd.
When I opened my eyes, Eva stood in front of me. Her clothes were torn,
yet she looked very calm. I must have looked at her questioningly, because
she said "I got tossed in the crowd." Which was to be expected
as she is so very petite; 5’2’’ and 110lbs. She sat beside me.
"Eva, I really don’t understand why you like coming to these
things." I paused "These rave things are disgusting-unsanitary,
swarming with drunken idiots. And the behavior of these people is
appalling!!" Eva just laughed "You are such a granny, Aryn!!
This is fun, enjoy it. I am."
The conversation continued like that until Cat Eyes Lie, the band I was
waiting for, came on stage. I waved at Malakai and blew him a kiss. I didn’t
expect him to see me, or return the gesture...but he did. He also called
us up to the stage, surprisingly, he had an Australian accent. Eva and I
were elated, we practically ran up the stage. Malakai told us to go back
stage and he’d see us when they were done. He kissed my cheek and sent
me off.
Eva and I stood side stage so we could watch the band a little longer,
we didn’t know where to go once we were back stage anyhow. I don’t
know how long the man behind us was there, but he got our attention when
he brushed Eva’s arm. He was tall and slender, with cold gray-blue eyes
and almost white hair, very pale, and wearing all black. I later found out
that he was nick-named Spike. The man murmured something to Eva which I
could not hear, then walked away. Eva followed the man, didn’t say a
word to me, so I followed her. He led us to a room where four other people
were sitting down. A shapely woman of medium height in a black and red
skirt, a loose black blouse, long black hair with red streaks, very bright
attentive green eyes, and full purple colored lips beckoned to us.
"Sit, sit my Dears. I am Elizabeta.". We were aquatinted with
the others; Eric, Seth, and Djinn. They were all dressed in garb similar
Elizabeta’s. Eva, Spike, and myself sat on a medium sized red velvet
couch, where Eva couldn’t take her eyes off Spike.
The band came back stage, done with their performance, looking tired
and hungry. That is when I remembered that the doors were locked, but I
didn’t say anything. Malakai sat next to me, and put his arm around me,
"You don’t mind do you, Love?" Of course I didn’t. Elizabeta,
Seth, Djinn, and Eric left, with out saying anything. Eva and I were left
with Spike and Malakai. "Where are they all going?" I asked.
Malakai responded "They’re going to get something to eat." He
smiled. I realized that they were going to the stage, and the crowd hadn’t
left yet.....Very strange.
Spike and Malakai got up at about the same time. "Will you come
with us?" asked Spike, mostly to Eva. Malakai tugged light on my arm.
"Yes, come with us..." He dragged the ‘S’ out. Spike and Eva
were already walking away, but I went along, against my better judgment.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Some place a little more private."
"Oh...I...never mind" that’s all I said. Why am I doing
this? I thought This isn’t like me..WHAT am I doing? Aryn
STOP...!
Something pulled inside of me, telling me not to go, yet I ignored it.
Malakai pulled me closer to him, I didn’t resist. I looked into his
face, but what I saw scared me. His eyes glowed yellow, like cat eyes. He
smiled and his teeth were sharply elongated. For the second time that
evening I began to panic, then Malakai placed his lips upon mine and a
certain calm fell over me and all was well. I looked into his eyes again
and they were normal, as were his teeth. Maybe I am seeing things.
The others had gone into a room with high ceilings, scarcely decorated,
with several velvet couches. What’s with the velvet couches
everywhere? Looking back into Malakai’s eyes, I was completely
entranced and words were no longer needed.
I snapped back into consciousness in bed, not my bed, not my room.
Where was I? Despite not knowing where I was, I was not scared because the
room, for some reason, seemed oddly familiar. I pulled the sheets down,
sat up and threw my legs off the bed to see that I had a black silk night
gown on. "Ugh...How did...? I don’t have one of these!!" I
murmured aloud. Looking around the room, I walked around the bed to the
door, to see a mirror. My eyes, seeming to glow, stared back at me, for
the first time in my life I thought I was beautiful. I opened the door
slowly, cautiously.
AHHH!!! Ow, it’s so bright in here! My mind screamed. The windows
to this room were all open, as were the glass doors leading to a balcony.
A cool breeze swept through the room. Squinting, I saw Eva stick her head
through the open doors. "HEY!!" she exclaimed and turned to her
right, telling someone else that I had awoken.
Not saying anything, I glided through the doors to see Elizabeta,
Spike, and Malakai sitting at a table, under a purple umbrella. Angrily I
demanded to know where I was, what they had done to me, and what day it
was. Elizabeta smiled at me, "It’s Sunday." Two days after the
concert. "You are in Spike and Malakai’s home. And we have made you
better. You are evolved."
I growled, "What? Evolved? What do you mean?"
For the first time I heard Spike speak, "My dearest, you are no
longer an average human. No longer pitiful. You are special, that is why
we chose you." I was even more confused than before. "You’re
crazy!! What’s wrong with you??!!"
Eva spoke, "Aryn, look at me. Watch what they have enabled me to
do..."
All of her features began to change. Fur sprouted from every follicle,
her hands turned into paws, her face was the likeness of a cat’s and her
eyes fluoresced. I closed my eyes, hoping I was seeing things, but I wasn’t.
When I opened my eyes, the transformation was complete- she was a very
large, sinewy but strong looking cat. I felt as if I were about to faint.
Malakai was quickly by my side, holding me up. "Oh, my.." I
sighed. "How did...." I trailed off, my voice very soft.
"You can do that too. All of us can." Malakai’s voice came
from behind. I steadied myself, "Um..How though? How is that
possible? I thought stuff like this was only on TV."
"TV shows come from reality." Elizabeta chimed in, grinning
widely.
There was what seemed like an eternity of silence. "Ok..How? How
can I make myself into a cat??" They explained that if I just
concentrated on it, I could do it, but it would take practice. Meanwhile
Eva had turned herself back. Once again, there was silence. I sighed
"Why am I special? You said I was special." No one said
anything, so I continued "Eva, how long have you been a..um...cat-thing?"
She replied quietly, "Three years." My jaw dropped "And why
didn’t you tell me? I thought...Damn..why couldn’t you tell me?"
I was angry again. "You planned to turn me?!!!" I slapped her.
That angered her and she turned into a cat again. I tried to imitate
the action and succeeded. In my cat form, as in human form, I was larger
and stronger. I was very surprised I was able to transform easily, so was
everyone else. She hissed, and the fight was on. I swiped at her face, and
again at her throat. Eva tried to do the same to mine, only it had little
effect on me. Eva, who was injured badly, reverted to human form, nude and
bleeding. She bled to near death before I let my cat-self melt away to my
"humanness". Spike, her lover apparently, had a cloth of sorts
and tied it around her neck to stop the bleeding. Elizabeta took blood in
her hands and smeared it on a sharp metal ledge. She was going to tell the
paramedics that Eva tripped and fell, cutting herself. Malakai called 911.
And I, her best friend, just sat there staring blankly at my hands, and
did so until the ambulance got there.
I sat beside Eva’s hospital bed, watching her carefully, painfully
slurp down liquids. I tried to apologize, but I could not force the words
from my throat. She looked up at me and said hoarsely, through her almost
ripped-out vocal chords, "Aryn, I am sorry. I am sorry
for not telling you the truth."
Through my tears I ignored her apology, "I have so many
questions, Eva."
She replied shortly "We have eternity to sort that out."
"Eternity?"... |
Nicole
9th grade
Bpt, Connecticut, USA |
I wrote this story in May, then handed it in as an English
assignment. (I got an "A+")
I'm a 14 year old girl and I aspire to be a pathologist. Writing poetry,
stories, and reading are my favorite pass-times. I don't know what else
I'm Supposed to say.
*peace* |
Amber's Eyes
Her eyes are full of tenderness of love of grace and bliss
Her eyes are full of kindness all Heaven must miss
They shine the caring of an angel filled with love
A silent inspiration painted by the Lord above
They whisper silent graces upon people of the land
They wash away the darkness and restore us to His hand
Her eyes offer such comfort they're a wonder and delight
Her eyes defy the shadows to allow us see dawn's light
They guard against the precious earth from evil they defend
My Lord above bless Amber's Eye's forevermore. Amen.
|
Uzoma
12th grade
Washington DC, 20001 |
About the author of Amber's Eyes
My name is Uzoma . I am a dedicated helper and poet. I use my inteligence
to pursue research into various issues collecting information to help
others with. In the past my poems have worn awards and the plaudits of my
friends and family. |
Completely Useless
fading endlessly are the words - symbolic and holy
how long will it take for the world to be completely absolved
by imperfect gods and meaningless idols?
so many paths to supposed "instant salvation"
lure us into cults and disillusionment
rituals and chants so repetitive and misleading
dreams are to be given up, wasted on pointless mockery
of spirituality - a lifetime commitment to a dormant statue
tortured souls are waiting to be released
deep within their hearts they search
never to find the mercy and grace of the Tried and True. |
Roxanna
Graduate
Phoenix, AZ, USA |
Roxanna is an 18 year old poet, who is aiming towards being
published in the near future. She writes mostly of spirituality and her
outlook on life. Soon, Roxanna will be starting school at Arizona State
University West to pursue a Bachelor's in Social Work/Psychology. She
welcomes comments.
|
What Is Left After Love
What is left after love
Love for her
Not for me
You live for her
You breathe for her
But nothing for me
Misery of being in the dark
In the shadows of others love
It takes two in love to make it
You loving her
And me loving you
It doesn't count
Love doesn't count for anything
Anything but the heartbreak in the end
Love is only worth the pain
You receive in the end
And that is what is left after love
The pain
The hurt
The memories
The deep down feeling
That you know there has to be
Something there
Yet you know there isn't
and never will be
There isn't any room for mistakes
In love.
No room for regrets or sorrow.
Just room for the pain in the end. |
Mackenzie
10th grade
PA |
| About the author of What Is Left After Love~ This poem was
written for anyone who has given their heart to someone who has given
their heart to someone else. |
Asphyxiation
darkness envelops me
when I need light to thrive
chills embrace me
sun disappears
deprived of necessity
I feel empty within
waiting for nothing
to whisk me away
to a parallel universe
where opposites truly attract
everything I do is reversed with a snap
whatever I need is in my hands
life rides high in my own world
soaring on eagles as I ride rainbows
to ends of the universe
music washes sleep from my eyes
as I fly higher
rounded angles hold secrets
my world
close at hand |
Elaine
9th grade
CA |
Lost Again
That couldn't be my life.
How could it have gotten there?
It seemed just a moment ago I sat it down
To take a break from the chaos.
When did it grow? When did it change?
When did you leave from it?
I could've sworn you were just there.
Can you tell me when I lost you amongst the rubble?
How did I get to where I'm going?
What path brought me here, and what thorny bush
Covered my way back?
I'm lost--
No one left to cry to,
You disappeared in the nonsense that I ignored.
Can you tell me Where it all went?
When we changed directions?
When i spun around so many times i lost sight of you?
Or perhaps--
You could just help me find me-
Where and when and how I lost myself.
And then maybe it would be easier
for me to find you again. |
Wilde
10th grade
Eastlake, OH |
| i write poetry and stories to vent. its part of who i am to
express myself through it. |
| Grandfather
I sit beside the window
Wrapped in a warm Blanket
The tears stream down my face
Each breath gasped as if claws were clutching my lungs.
The house is empty and the silence is deafening.
Nothing is heard only the small tear drops
thumping softly on the ground.
Outside my window the white snow falls
to the ground. It is a canvas painted
black with spots of white.
I hug my dog for comfort. I close my eyes
and see my grandfather's face.
I see his smile and swear I hear his voice.
I weep harder, and I bury my face in my dogs fur.
I'll never see him again.
Never hear his stories
hear his laugh
Feel his hug
It's all too late.
When I should have listened
I walked away.
He meant so much to me
and he'll never know.
I loved him
I still do.
I'll never forget him.
Saying good-bye isn't letting go.
I'll never let go.
Never. |
Danielle
9th grade
OH |
| Hey.. My Name Is Danielle... Yeah.. well.. This is a poem
of mine about my grandfather.. I'm 14 going into 9th grade and i enjoy
writing and drawing.. yeah so that's about it. |
| Dynamic Music of the
storm
The rain falls and so do my tears. Both mingling with each other in a
complex rhythm beaten out by the thunder. The lightning carves out complex
designs in the sky as the energy of the night changes. The weather fits my
mood and I feel almost like an ancient goddess who has the mortal realm at
my feet. My eyes light up more and more as the lightning increases. The
cool drops of rain slide down my skin. I feel the energy rise until I know
that something must give. The cool night air whips about me, causing a
slight shiver to run up my back. The storm gradually slows down and moves
on while I remain. The heavens seal up and eventually I am left alone.
Alone to ponder my thoughts as I long for the climax of the storm to be
upon me once more. The rain purifies and I can smell the fresh scent of
the earth. It fills my nostrils and I rejoice in the new life the storm
has provided.
Yet even in my new found happiness there is a dark corner. The scent of
death and decay wafts through the air. It is faint, yet it will always be
there. Somewhere in the near distant the dark reaper treads with s | |