Tallulah Lafferty
Today is the same as yesterday and tomorrow, We
Believe in our dreams and hope they are Real
Our clothes and shoes are what make us Cool
The sun rises and sets, as we reset, We
Wake up and have nothing Left
The road leads us to neverending School
Time is ticking and were stuck standing still, We
Repeat, compete, and cheat, the lurk
Of sadness in the air is never late
Anxiety and depression are everywhere, We
Have hope when we throw a strike
But the darkness sets us straight
The day fades away and we become castaways, We
Hide in the dark afraid to dance and Sing
Abby Barker & Mr. Marshall
By this time of year the leaves have partially grown back
Only on the hardiest of trees
By this time of month the leaves are
Crunched
Only because they have been well- played on
By birds, small mammals, or even
Children playing hide and go seek
By this time of day the sun makes the trees look like claws
Only because the leaves they once held are
Crunched
The art of noticing
Only because you stopped and listened to the world that leaves us little treasures for us to
discover
Only if you stop and see it
Like a tiny copper disk
You only noticed when you were a kid
The art of noticing
By the end you’ll have understood what all this means
Evelyn Reed
Quilts are better than blankets.
The weight of layers sewn throughout
Creates a warmth no blankets could replicate
No matter how soft they may be.
Blankets can not replicate the feeling,
Of a quilt draped over my cold body.
Quilts have covered me on cold nights.
Brought from a woman who is nothing but joy.
A woman who has spent her life,
Teaching my father just how wonderful life can be,
All while her fingers are calloused from
The quilts that line her closets.
And the quilts which have seeped over to my own.
Ella Green
The world’s most wonderful wildflowers
Sprout not in the tame gardens,
—Who ever said that what is untamed lacks beauty?—
But where the storm has hit hardest
The lovely land.
After the storm’s powerful blow,
After the fire and scorch and ice and cold,
God’s beautiful voice whispers life over all.
On moss and mushrooms and lichen logs
Heaven’s tears fall,
Angels weeping and angels rejoicing,
And there in the after shine:
Sparkling revival resting,
All life on earth forgetting and then remembering
It is held in His hands.
Cooper Dutton
I met a man on a dirt road between home and a place I've never been.
The man was short, clean shaven, and seemed to be in his mid 50s.
His clothes were torn, yet spotless, and the color changed on every stitch just the way the sun
wanted it.
He carried a map with him and with every step he marked each new tree, branch, and leaf he
danced with.
In that moment a bucket of realization poured over me and got my socks wet.
A looming thought stood above me and danced through the crossroads of my ever changing
mind.
It bent over and with a cold gust and whispered,
“where am I?”
The man laughed as if he heard it and flipped over the map and smiled like he’s believed in me
before.
On the paper was the very dirt I stood on and with a grin he told me,
“you're right here.”
Lauren Tyler
If every word I utter turns to dust,
Remember this:
A little advice for the rest of us.
To the rebel and pirateer:
Don’t pretend an earthly fight justifies your life.
Hang up your flag and kneel before the enemy.
To the desperate woman:
Don’t believe the lie of settling for “good enough.”
Such a tourniquet makes you forget you are perfect.
To the ambitious with weary feet:
Don’t forget that the race is a marathon.
You have the rest of your life to work.
To the stumbling young man:
Don’t let society whisper in your ear who you ought to be.
You answer to God alone.
To the blindsided by fate:
Don’t forget to see the world in color.
People tend to see in black and white or ultraviolet.
To the lonely outcast:
Don’t lose yourself in the desert.
He makes leaders of those who refuse to kneel.
And lastly, to myself:
Pray for open eyes and sound advice -
Selflessness begets a free identity.
Amelia Barr
A generation of boys forgotten and dead
While I lay my head upon my bed
Bullet holes to remind me of where you fought
But I’m sorry to say that we forgot
It shouldn’t have been you, but you died all the same
And the cruelty of men is all to blame
We sent you to your death, and you knew it too
Yet you still fought, what else were you to do?
I am sorry my friend, for you died too young
Millions of you dead, for a song unsung
Never again did you get to taste
The feeling of your mothers warm embrace
A soldier, a man, a son all gone
From the horrors of man: a gun, a bomb
It’s easy to forget what you were fighting for
When you should have been at school, not war
You’re not just a name engraved on a memorial
You’re a man who deserves a proper burial
You’re more than a white cross or a star of David
You’re a permanent part of history’s allied nation
I cannot promise that we won’t forget
Nor never again start a war that we regret
But at least I’ll burn your sacrifice into my mind
I will not leave the past behind
And I know I’m not the only one
There are others that remember the things you have done
So rest well soldier, you did your part
I’ll remember your duty—but most importantly—your heart
Jayla McNeill
Jayla McNeill
Jayla McNeill
Liam Palumbo
Erin Cassety
