Poem 1: Natural Harmonia
the sparks of ideals…
the flames of truth…
a blaze lit by zeal
too intense to feel.
harmony is naught but
kindling set alight,
caught in a blaze between
the beings we are and
a belief of what could be.
raised to be a bad man
the puppet of a madman
nature is abhorrent
yet reason doesn’t warrant
hatred of our fellow men.
Still, we light ourselves aflame, again and again.
Poem 2: Monochrome Dream
A monochrome dream
plays upon a theatre stage
in perfect silence.
The actor’s soundless
cries reverberate through the
audience’s minds,
with each move gifting
viewers unforgettably
timeless memories.
The present quiet
grows yet fonder in the age
of a raucous world.
Poem 3: Lessons Left Unlearned
Class is in session no longer, the empty halls serving only as reminders of lessons left unlearned. Rooms of desks rest in darkness, the cafeteria’s closed off all counters, walls display unread quotes.
“Always do your best!”
“You are one of a kind!”
“Take care of yourself!”
“Healthy bodies make healthy minds!”
The time we have left to study grows ever shorter, but the student body remains unconcerned.
Lessons on Korea and the Cold War are scrawled upon a blackboard, but nobody’s taking notes.
“It’s just a stupid test.”
“History is boring.”
“Why do I have to learn this?”
“It’s just not interesting.”
The timer ticks down before anyone realizes, and each second wasted closes even more doors.
As failure draws yet closer, we carelessly toss expensive textbooks across linoleum floors.
“Our teachers know what’s best.”
“People die all the time.”
“To live now is more important.”
“Everything will be fine.”
The right answer isn’t always simple,
wrong is not always wrong by principle,
no matter the color of chalk or disciple.
One flawed variable makes the difference
in the calculation of one’s inference
with a conclusion of indifference.
Poem 4: All for One / One for All
Take it all / do all it takes
to beat the rest / to be the best
mind not the odds / to stand as one even
in the worst of times / against the insurmountable
fight the inevitable / and go further beyond
be the one to / aim for the peak
hold strength / above all else
Poem 5: Twilight Spectre
His shadow stretches across the courtyard,
a silent evening setting.
Faces glance judgingly from barred windows
as the man sits, watching.
A scarlet scar streaks across his temple,
from forehead to skewed teeth.
Dark wrappings conceal an open socket
that none have lived to see.
He stops by each eve until nine-thirty,
then swiftly vanishes,
leaving neither traces nor memories
of his own existence.
Some call him a phantom of the twilight,
by other names a reaper.
Those few who’ve spoken to know him naught but
as a withdrawn spectre,
one who walks the midnight streets so to keep
the town out of strife.
The man’s desire is but one: to protect,
as he had his whole life.
Though nobody asks, he keeps on patrol
despite the fearing glares.
This is so kids can play in without care,
and the bad men remain outdoors.
Tyler DeWriter 