Poetry Essay Short Story
The Fog

Kasumi twining between solemn poles of deep moss and mahogany.
Echoes drifting, stretching questing fingers into the woven faces.
Mist-blue silence rolls in with it, bringing the phantom pain back,
And the sky turns to a wall between the weather and the heart.
Gray and silver flames drip slowly down the barriers erected,
Unspoken tears follow the path, so many times since it was first tread.
Raindrops like bullet wounds sear shut old weeping-holes and open new ones,
A broken second and a chord shudder through the fog, slashing violet.
Deep violet lightens shade by shade, swiftly rotating the prism hues to silver.
All is still again, only the familiar shapes of forest sentinels pierce the cloud,
And all belongs to the fog.
12th grader
St.George, UT
11th grader
Bowling Green, OH
This is a copy of "the Fog," the very first collaboration! Sarah  and I wrote this together, each writing about two lines at a time, e-mailing it to the other, and then waiting anxiously for a reply. We kept a copy in our word processing programs (okay, Sarah did, I was a slacker and had to get the thing from her later) so we would both have a running record of how much was completed and we'd both have it when it was done. And now, without further ado, I proudly present "the Fog," written by Sarah and Carmen .  Tell us how you like it! 
Season's Treasures

A memory lost in Autumns passed
Reminiscent dreams had lasted
Dawn descends and all is lost
Tremors sent throughout all of eternity
Embrasses of past lovers arms
Love filled hearts with fluttered beats
No disposition of resentment
Discouraged calls and smothered rage
A memory lost in summers passed
The tranquil eve peirces the morning
Trapped beneath a sparkling night sky
Treasures plundered , secrets withheld
Pain endured from angered cries
Spirits released from reality's grasp
Anchored felling inconcieved
A lonely mothers plea for help
A memory lost in winters passed
Sparkeling blankets of powdered ice
Glaced ponds laced in angels feathers
Warmth from within heats the earth
Early evening takes its toll
Feverish children rest indoors
Swallowing feelings kept to yourself
Frozen tears shatter like hearts
A memory lost in springs passed
New beginnings , cherished lives
Feelings released into the open
Dreams of Autumns , summers,winters
Spring is a dream that never ends
Dreams replace a season's treasures
Heart bestowed with another love
Angels feathers fall in winter

10th grader
New Glasgow, Nova Scotia, Canada
No Remorse (a song)

I walk through life in a trance,
Is this reality or a dream?
Are these things really happening to me,
Are things really as they seem?
Am I really being treated unfairly,
Are people really that mean?
Am I all alone in this world,
Am I even a human being.
Am I awake of am I dreaming?
Are my emotions that unfeeling?
Do I do what I think I do?
Am I that unfair to you?
Do I say what I am thinking?
Is this my voice that I hear singing?
Is this the person I want to be?
Is this reality?
Are all the things I say to you,
Really what I feel?
Are you mad at me cause I hurt you,
And youre still trying to heal?
I cant seem to grasp reality,
Everythings a haze.
Will I ever get through this stage of my life.
Is this even a phase?
Am I awake of am I dreaming?
Are my emotions that unfeeling?
Do I do what I think I do?
Am I that unfair to you?
Do I say what I am thinking?
Is this my voice that I hear singing?
Is this the person I want to be?
Is this reality?
If anything wrong, I should do,
Please accept this apology for you.
Forgive me fo anything I have forgot,
Lately I have been lost in thought.
I apologise for not being there for you,
You were always there for me when I was blue.
Im sorry for not being the best I could be,
Im stuck living in this harsh reality.
Am I awake of am I dreaming?
Are my emotions that unfeeling?
Do I do what I think I do?
Am I that unfair to you?
Do I say what I am thinking?
Is this my voice that I hear singing?
Is this the person I want to be?
Is this reality?

9th grader
Alberta, Canada
About the author of Reality

A big thanks goes out to Mrs. Perry my Language Arts teacher. Who, unlike my parents, supports my poetry!

The Memory Curse

I'm dead, or rather, I wish I were. That's one thing I've found about wanting to die; the wish itself is a noose, hanging you in your fantasy. So here I am, 16 and dead. I'm not vibrant. Not light-hearted. Not here. I'm dying. Dying. Dead.

 I remember being six and sitting on the back porch of my house counting my freckles. I was trying to memorize the patterns they formed, the mazes they created. I examined their texture and color and memorized accordingly. I firmly believed that memorizing my freckles would help me remember my life. I felt that I could point out the circular patch of freckles above the knuckle of my left ring finger and say, "I got these the summer Daddy took me to Hood Canal and threw me on his shoulders, running with me into the water, because I was afraid of the jellyfish." I never knew that my memory would be a curse. A curse. My personal stigma.

 Sometimes I wish that I could induce Alzheimers. If I could forget the scars that form sparkling spiderwebs across my wrists I would be in heaven. But I can't. It is impossible to forget. So I try to kill the memories with fantasy. But, fantasy becomes reality. That's why I am hanging here, to kill the memories. Please don't cut me down. I'm dead.  Dying. Dead.

11th grader
Little Rock, Arkansas

Cavity filled revenge oozed and stained your teeth
a dirty yellow,
Visited the dentist
(he) recommended brushing with
Be my sinful lover
just one
         one more time,
because lucky number five drove you home last night,
drove you home through drizzled intentions and
she squeezed your hand
kissed your mouth;
a girlish fantasy licked with alcohol
dripped with greed

Spit out her ravaged tongue and went for more
A car rocking experience- laced with foggy fingertip designs
and seatbelt imprints unjustly tattooed along your spine,
you were barley seventeen,

Ten o'clock came,
I folded your number away,
-Plastic felt so cold and cruel against hopeful fingers-
fingers too hesitant to trace your
phone-line connection,
Because Mommy said
You weren't home

8th grader
Topeka, Kansas

if you must
but trust
you never

for a fare
but tear
my heart you will

I fear
are yours dear
not mine

But try
not to cry
but let time pass by
I can't come back

I laid my heart like a rug
but you continue to tug
why don't you just mug
me of my heart

But be you
and true
because a few
might be able to love

8th Grader
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Autumn To Me

How can I capture the beauty of fall?
Its impossible to describe Gods power at all
But within my fancy, a world of beauty
I can conceive the deepest of thoughts

A spectrum of shades which nature reveals
Through the air
Through the trees
Through the way your heart feels
Refreshed, refined, vibrant, alive
The leaves tell a story
About life, about time

And if you listen carefully
You will hear the trees whisper
Saying, shh!
Allow yourself to be embraced by natures splendor

As I gaze at the cloudless sky,
it seems too blue to be true
And I feel like Im part of a painting
Because I am a creation too

If a dream is a wish your heart makes
Then a thought is a picture your mind takes
So peer through my lens
At this spectacular view
And you too will see
What autumn means to me

10th grader
Milford, Pennsylvaniz

I'm a high school student (10th grade) and I LOVE to write poetry or lyrics.  I like to read poetry also. And my fave band ever is Savage Garden. They make the most meaningful and poetic music i've ever heard.


Why is the question I ask
As you walk out of my life
What could have been so bad that you left?
I wish I knew the answer to this
But knowing I dont
Makes it much worse
Please make it all better
But I know that we will never speak again
May my love follow you
And keep you warm at night
May it cover you from the harshness of the world
And shield you from the harm others may inflict
For my love will never leave you
Abandon you
Or Hurt you
Only bring you peace and serenity
Just remember that my love will be matched by no man
For there is only one of me
And no two men have the same way of loving
So keep this in mind as you walk with him
Talk with him
And even love him
For he could never treat you as well as I did
So from this moment on
I will be with you
You will never be alone
Never be harmed
For I will protect you
In all the ways you go

11th grader
San Antonio, TX
About the author of "Never". He is telling of how someone very special has walked out of his life. He know that lots of people can relate to this piece.

Life is a bubble inside itself
Constant bubbles blowing up and popping
That's what being a teenager is

What a life to live to weave to wave
And all that in a few years
It won't change, even after we're older.
I'm sure of it.

10th grader
Manlius, New York
About The Author:

What a weirdo am I


Every night before I sleep,
I start to cry,
I havent' a clue,
So I ask myself why.

It is because of him,
You are wondering who,
He has hurt me bad,
and I ask of what did I do?

I speak of my father,
Who has the power to make,
Good into bad,
With much at stake.

It is the respect and love I have,
Or rather used to,
But still a little part of everyone else,
Loves him the way I still do.

I don't know why I forgive him,
Time after time,
For what he has done,
Is an unchangable crime.

I leave here alone now,
This is the end,
But to my father,
No love I send.

9th grader
Ludlow, Ma USA
About the author of Why. I am 14 years old.
Do you?

You laugh at me
Tell me that I'm foolish in my ways
Childish in my thinking
But do you really know me?
I question everything
I love you, but hate you
I'm sane but even more crazy
I want to be free, but I'm scared to go
I want to be reconized but for the right reasons
I want to scream, I want to cry
I want to live, but I want to die
I want to slap you.
I want to kiss you.
I contidict eveything I do with everything I say
Do you really know me?

9th grader
Monona, Iowa
About The Author:

I'm 14 and I've been writing poetry since I was 11.

Why My Dog Eats Bugs

Animals do baffling things. It is a fact of life, something we all know and, generally, we accept. Cats pounce imaginary things. Rodents eat their offspring. Cows and horses sleep standing up. Monkeys dance. Sometimes, monkeys dance while wearing a fez and a small vest. Of all the fauna on this planet, however, I believe that the most intriguing and mystifying must be the dog.

Yes, man's best friend. Supposedly, our canine companions have an inborn nature to love and protect we bipeds. This has been going on for eons, ever since the wild dogs of prehistory took it upon themselves to guard a band of scraggly, hairy, cave-dwelling men. I know that happened because I read it in a book. In any case, this was the beginning of the dog's inexplicable actions.  I mean, what partially-sane organism would willingly, dutifully, and without complaint, stand at the side of humans, perhaps the most fickle of all animals (aside from dogs themselves, of course)?

Answer: none.

A lot has changed since cavemen first walked around with a pack of wolf-dogs at their sides. Now mall babes go on shopping sprees with their toy poodles. Either way, this was most likely a bad idea. We were stupid enough to trust the wild animals in the first place, and they were stupid enough to trust us. It all evens out. So, while they occasionally turn rabid and maul an unsuspecting schoolchild, we pay them back in a number of ways, each perhaps worse than being bitten in the keister by a German Shepherd. Among other things, humans have (in no particular order): leashed, trained, groomed, walked, caged, petted, bathed, dressed, kissed, fed, collared, teased, and given funny haircuts to our pet dogs. And why? Is it because it gives us power? Partially. But more than that, it is an equalizer, a sort of compensation for the weird things that the dogs themselves do.

If you have a dog, or have spent much time with them, you'd know what I'm talking about. Big or small, whatever breed, there are some universal truths among dogs.

Universal Dog Truth #1: Although perfectly well behaved around the household, whenever taken outside a dog will immediately begin to act like a complete fool and embarrass you. This is especially true when applied to situations in which saving face is of the utmost importance (while around your superiors or attractive members of the opposite sex, or in places where there are many, many people).

Universal Dog Truth #2: Even if you're convinced that your dog is house trained, if left alone for more than fifteen minutes, it won't be. 

Universal Dog Truth #3: Dogs are all implanted with the internal urge to hunt and kill. If deprived of weekly fox hunts or the opportunity to maul small rodents, the dog will turn its teeth to the nearest object of value to release its pent-up hunting energy. Pump heels, important school papers, and anything over the value of $20 are especially valuable prizes to dogs. And, of course, as with most species, there is one, supreme law which is the center of every action and every reaction, the alpha and the omega, one undeniable truth that can neither be escaped nor denied. 

Supreme Dog Truth: If there are bugs around, a dog is compelled to eat said bugs.

Now, some people have objected to this truth. They say that they have never seen their dog eat a bug. To those people I say (and this is a direct quote) "nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you stinky-butt poo-head."

Besides, you can't watch your dogs all the time, and if you were to put any dog under constant video surveillance, it could not and would not go for twenty-four hours without eating a bug of some kind. Perhaps just one bug; a gnat, a fly, a moth . . . heck, spiders count too, though they are arachnids. Dogs can't tell the difference. 

Teams of top scientists at the world's highest-esteemed scientific institutes have conducted in-depth study of canine endocrinology, genetic makeup, interactive environmental factors, and chew toys. However, not a one of these studies (which often include surprisingly insightful evaluations of doggie IQ) have produced a feasible answer as to what unseen forces uphold the Supreme Dog Truth. 

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, dog-lovers of the world . . . I have been shown the light. I have found a better way. I am no longer fumbling through the darkness, searching for the answer to that all-important question; "Why does my dog eat bugs?"

It was a surprisingly simple revelation. I was sitting around in my living room one lazy Tuesday evening, watching my daily dosage of cartoons. Now, it being early November and my residence being in Northwestern Ohio, the weather has been somewhat brisk (READ: It's frickin' cold!!!!). Some may not know it, but most insects cannot survive in temperatures below 40 Fahrenheit. Wishing to preserve their little bug-lives (even though the average life-span of an insect is all of two weeks), they often sought haven in the warm nest of us mammalian couch potatoes. Unbeknownst to them, doom awaited in the form of a small, white, slightly paunchy Jack Russell Terrier named Missy.

On that particular night, it was a rather sizeable moth that entered our dwelling and, knowing no better, it latched onto the wall behind the couch. I did not notice it; Missy did. She climbed to the back of the couch and stood on her hind legs, stretching her neck out to snap at the unsuspecting moth. It was just out of her reach, so she began to whine slightly. At this point I noticed her hunt and began to watch, amused. If you view this as inhumane in any way, you might want to stop reading at this point. I, personally, am not concerned about the life of a small, winged bug with a brain the size of a grain of salt and three days left to live in any case.

To make a long story short, Missy proceeded to chase the moth around the room, much to the delight of the entire family. Once she caught it, she quickly devoured it. This, of course, is the part which, until now, was shrouded in mystery. The dog has no quarrel with the bug. The bug is not worthy prey (as Dog Truth #3 states, they would much rather dismantle a brand-new pair of $50 stiletto heels). It is obvious the bug does not taste good, because immediately after conquering the mighty moth, my dog will immediately make faces of disgust, paw at her mouth, and drink as much water as her mouth allows. So why, we ask, was the dog so intent upon catching and eating the bug?

The answer is simple. Simply refer to the Universal Dog Truth #4, which states that dogs will, under any conditions, become insanely jealous of any other organism that enters the home they claim as their own.

Dogs view moths and other bugs as intruders, capable of usurping their undeniable authority and becoming the six-legged rulers of the roost. Our furry friends will have none of this. If there is an animal on their territory they can safely swallow without the hazard of choking to death or being whacked by a rolled-up newspaper, they will eat it without question.

Truth be told, dogs would likely eat humans if the opportunity presented itself. However, we are larger and more intelligent, and we pet them besides. The dogs are content with forcing us to cater to their every whim, feed them gourmet dog foods, allow them to claim and shed all over every piece of furniture in a five-mile radius. 

On the other hand (or paw), we get to put them in reindeer antlers at Christmas and make them roll over for a stale dog biscuit. We are at a stalemate, the dogs and the humans. And, while we battle for superiority, the bugs quietly sneak in through our air vents and under our doors, taking up residence in dark corners and hibernating in lampshades until it becomes warm enough for them to launch a full-scale assault on all which presume to crush, dominate, and oppress them.

So, do dogs really protect us? Or are they so caught up in their jealous quest for authority that they are doing nothing other than facilitating the demise of the human race? This leads to another, perhaps more distressing question; which really is the most intelligent species? Humans trust the capricious canines with their lives. Dogs allow themselves to be ruled by hairless apes with a fascination for dog-clothes. Does either have a mental advantage?  If I had to pick the most intelligent species, my vote would go for the bugs.

11th grader
Bowling Green, Ohio
About the author of "Why My Dog Eats Bugs": Neither a serious attempt at writing nor a relevant piece whatsoever, I just thought it sounded pretty funny. I'm not a completely humorless, stressed-out, oddball teen writer.  I'm a stressed-out, oddball teen writer.
The Survivor

Bitter-sour and gold, the October light hit the splintered glass and refracted into shards of a long-lost rainbow. Crouching, Gabriel examined the first glass he'd seen in months. Rarely did he pass through towns, and when he did they were the war-ravaged shells of suburban neighborhoods, long-deserted and just as long pillaged. When he did pass through, he did it swiftly, glittering through on his finely-tuned Banshee, the jet-black of the cycle silhouetted briefly against the outer walls of ghost buildings.

 Loose dust billowed up around him as he bent, and his heavy, gray-brown trench coat stirred up a breath of wind. Gabriel ran his calloused hands lightly over the frost of glass, as it adoringly pricked his fingertips. Sparks of pain leapt on his fingers, but Gabe had become indifferent to much worse tortures than a little broken glass.

 He recalled absently that he'd once watched a wise man walk a bed of broken glass, somewhere in the deep, gray shadows cast by the Dunes. Or perhaps the old, sun-cracked man had been stark-raving mad, and the other villagers, equally as browned and as soulless, were simply torturing the ancient one for their own glee. It was not uncommon to see this anymore, though it was quite the change from the brief utopia that had finally engulfed the world.

 Leave it to humans, he thought, the words catching on the barbed wire of his mind's fence, to attain total peace only to use it as a reason for war.

 Discontent with his long-winded train of thought (Gabe had always been more for actions than thoughts, reflexes were perhaps his greatest asset), he straightened up and looked from side to side. There was no one there, nothing of any importance, and this did not surprise him. It no longer pleased him, either; in fact, it upset him, thinking that he might be the sole person left alive in North America. At first it was a rather amusing thing, and he was a little proud of himself; surviving a virtual Armageddon by predicting it, preparing himself for it. However, it was no longer funny.  Not funny at all. He was lonely and tired and discontent. Above all, he was bored. He missed the violence that his renegade-hero life had perpetuated. He missed coffee and (perhaps more than anything; perhaps not) the woman that he'd loved, the one he might have married one day. But it was all ash now, never to be forgotten and never to be lived again, fading and being bleached in the sun like everything else.

 Assuming that, perhaps, somewhere, there was someone else alive, Gabe picked up a few of the larger shards of glass, cutting himself only once.  Even his blood, he noted, was thin now, but he noted it only in a detached, coldly observant way. Once his satchel was loaded with glass (something rarely found, along with most other things), he moved back to his cycle. It seemed the only perfection in a stained, drained world; still perfect black, glimmering, purring and riding like nothing else. Again, the dull longing arose, but he dismissed it as nothing more significant as thirst, and straddled the bike. The engine revved easily, and Gabe allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment and remember. The crime-stained world that he'd protected by perpetuated violence; the emerald bliss that had swallowed hate and greed and everything for about a week, but, like rotten meat, couldn't stomach it; the fire that cut off the feeling and left a good-bye hanging in the air . . .

 Then the tear hit his cheek. Gabe's eyes, alert despite the blistering sun and the screaming dust, popped open upon the sensation. Roughly, too roughly, he brought his hand across his face and flung away the sorrow.  Riding off, heading ever east, the survivor purged himself of his soul and rode on as a shell.

11th grader
Bowling Green, Ohio
About the author of "The Survivor": This is a much-edited form of a longer work-in-progress, just from the prologue. If it seems incomplete, perhaps you can fool yourself into thinking that means something.
my personal life

There are some days,
When I just want to cry.
Don't know what I'm feeling,
Don't understand why.
With all that has happened,
Life's just not the same.
I can't get it to end,
This terrible pain.
My heart has been broken,
My soul left empty.
I have no hope,
Because they have left me.
I just feel so lonely,
So horribly sad.
When I think of my hurt,
I begin to get mad.
It's not their fault,
They're not to blame.
For i am the one,
That caused me this shame.
I know what I did,
there's not much to say.
It just makes me upset,
Cause it won't go away.

11th Grader
Boonton, New Jersey
About the author~My name is trista and i have been writing poetry since freshman year. I love to read and write. I am also a big fan of computers.  This is the first piece I have submitted and i hope it is enjoyed
Love Costs

It all happened on the schoolground floor
Not wanting the winter, begging for more
Crowds of coasts, zipped up tight
Flowing red on the blue and white

Clatter of bells, crunch of the snow
Whistle of wind, icy but slow
Droves dissolved, back to their caves
Unlearned students, ignorant slaves

The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay
And long were the remains of the day

The court now so empty he started his task
His boots falling gently on the frost-laden grass
He wore a black coat that whipped in the wind
Bringing out his white face and his blue eye's soft glint

He moved 'til he reached the center of the court
He walked with a method, his time was not short
Standing alone, no one saw, no one cared
A grin crossed his face; no flesh would be spared

The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay
And long were the remains of the day

Standing alone, his eyes scanned the field
e wondered just how much his little stunt would yield
Six hundred, perhaps seven-hundred down
A thousand or more ought to get around town

Then this smile disappeared, in its place a harsh scowl
Her face in his mind, smile sweet, brain foul
His eyes sank in, his countenance fell
Deeper than oceans, deeper than Hell

The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay
And long were the remains of the day

Clatter of bells, squeaking of doors
The poor gulping fish found their way back to shore
His heart skipped a beat but just for a beat
He turned slow to face them and give them their treat

Crowds closing in, red engulfing the white
Eager to swallow the black pit inside
When suddenly the wind pulled away the black spite
And revealed a frail body, wrapped with dynamite

The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay
And long were the remains of the day

"Hear me now!" he bellowed with rage
"You've paraded your faults, now I'm on the stage!
"No more of your hypocrisy! No more of your lies!
"You care nothing for me, now everyone dies!"

The crowd fell apart, their fright all around
Screams in the air, blood on the ground
"What's going on? Who the hell is this guy?"
"Who cares, let's just run!" the entire mass cried

He watched the confusion; a grin crossed his face
Primal emotion in a pathetic human race
Fuse in his hand, set to detonate
He was about to go off when a voice cried out, "Wait!"

And then she appeared, her face unafraid
His heart skipped again; for this he had prayed
He'd been open to her, and she stabbed just the same
He wanted her next to him despite all the pain

She spoke not a word but looked in his eyes
He couldn't help but remember her lies
She put a photograph in his hand, then turned away
He looked down at it.

The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay
And long were the remains of the day

Silent crowd, watching his tears melt the snow
Down on his knees, clutching her toes
Wanting some part, any part he could claim
Perhaps not knowing that things weren't the same

The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay
And long were the remains of the day

Manteca, CA
About the author of Love Costs

I find that third-person poetry is more effective than first-person.  People tend to try and relate to fictional characters more readily than with the living, breathing poets themselves.


*sometimes there aren't any signs of life passed the barrier of emptiness*could you imagine that one day you would awake and not be able to see an inch passed your face*think about how it feels to pass a corner not knowing what is on the other side*now think about how it would feel if you couldn't see passed anything* there would be no reason to hide your face from the spectacles of phonies*no reason to believe in anything you couldn't see*or would it make you believe more in things that you couldn't see*imagine a little boy in the middle of a room not doing anything*now imagine if he were blind*there is a sudden feeling of sorrow and angst because the boy is too young and too adorable for this to occur and yet it has*imagine the child as he grows up*there will be people who will laugh at him and taunt him*there will be people who will love and care for him*imagine shooting a blind man with pure ardor*he wouldn't know what hit him*imagine the falling darkness suddenly becomes more than darkness*that it would change from hatred to haste*give the blind man a gun and he'd try to shoot you back*imagine all the innocent people he would kill in the process* think about how much it would matter to him*imagine that one of the innocent was a mother who had a four year old son*now imagine the pain that he would feel the guilt*the pain would be incredibly terrifying* imagine that the boy becomes a teenager*the world has changed for him he perceives it differently than it perceives him*imagine that the boy was the least popular boy in school because he was overweight*imagine that he had just asked out a girl and had been rejected*imagine that he was abused by his foster parents* imagine if you were the boy would you commit suicide*would the world change its view*imagine that the world were not real*that this was all some game established by a higher power*imagine that all you know is false could you handle the truth*imagine that the blind man was not born blind and had faked his handicap throughout his life*could you then shoot the man in pure ardor*how guilty would you feel about it then* what if this is all life has to give could you die content*have you ever truly seen the lights above the world do you find them as brilliant as the lights in your mind*when your mind is closed do you dream dreams that you could never tell anyone else*in your dreams are you bulletproof can you fly*in your dreams can you tell him how you really feel can you say to him what you really imply*do you conquer all evil in your mind*the stalemate has become fluently resolved*the emblematic smile that you depict will show all that is righteous and explain all the unknown*look at all the tools of destruction and hide in the closet*imagine that you were deprived of the holy ghost*how many sprites and demons would you face in your journey*imagine that you were sent on a journey but did not understand the purpose of the journey*would you be able to discover the panacea*such an idea that you would be able to live without support could you handle it*there is a tampered undermined intelligence amongst the people who strive further*they see their success they see their victory* every now and then they see the success of the people they care for but what about the rest*the miles between people have been severed by distrust and greed*imagine that you are the man who was born without a mother*imagine that you came face to face with the blind man who had killed your mother*what would you do*how many times have you seen something that was entirely unjust something that was just incredibly insensitive*now think about how many times you weren't laughing*someday i will gain the strength i need and when i do the world will change*i will not receive it from a higher power for you see i do not believe that a higher power would let this travesty occur*imagine living in a world where God did not exist*would you be able to live in that world*i wouldn't*there are times when God exists in the most spectacular forms and yet i don't believe*i guess i believe when the world is mine but when i fades out and flounders i don't*have you ever been able to walk the streets at night*it's hard to believe that people used to leave their doors unlocked*it's a frightening truth to see nothing ever is solid anymore*imagine living in a world where you are given absolutely no respect in a world where you are taken away from but never given back*imagine a world in which no one ever listens to what you have to say*imagine that he doesn't care what you say*he doesn't appreciate what has become of his unbridled silence*there will no longer be a hole in the place closest to your heart*that all the phonies who belong in hell will find their way to heaven and your bitter soul will be cast away to hell*imagine that holden caulfield had never existed if he had never been dreamt up that he had never been thought of*now imagine that mark chapman didn't have the book in his pocket would he still have shot john lennon*imagine that mark chapman  didn't have the book in his pocket would future assassins still carry the book*imagine if mark chapman didn't have the book in his pocket  would jd salinger still be writing today would he be the most glorious writer of the present day*someday all the verses will fall together in a fashion that is anything but dire*then all of a sudden the world will collapse on itself because of the approval of sadness and disappointment*there will be a day when the end will come but will that make nostradamus correct or just make us implicitly insipid*we know it's coming so why can't we stop it*one day you will die one day a relative of yours will die why can't we stop that*imagine that your judgment was incorrect and that just for the slightest second your expectations became nothing more than wishes of entire worlds of glory*imagine that one day you will look back on today and remember when therewere 108 days remaining and laugh at the unaltered pain*imagine that reality is no longer your imagination*

11th grader
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
Ballad of the Halifax Pier



The year was 1779 when they set off from England.
They shipped aboard the Halifax Pier and set out for a distant land.
The way was hard and they knew they might,
Never see it through the night,
But they sailed on to that distant land.

Shed no tears, for their the broken men of the Halifax Pier.
For twenty three years its sailed the sea,
Getting men where they need to be,
Shed no tears for the Halifax Pier.

I was but a lad of ten when I first saw that mighty ship.
Should I slack in my work Id feel the whip.
But I shipped and cleaned from dawn to dusk,
And blessing my fortune and luck,
For they were a merry bunch with which to ship.

Shed no tears, for Im a broken man on the Halifax Pier.
For many a day Id work the sea,
For that was where I wanted to be,
Shed no tears for the Halifax Pier.

Then one day we came under fire of a pirate band.
We clashed and fought to the very last man.
But when it was done we sailed away,
And we lived another day,
And they were short a few ship hands.

Shed no tears for the broken men of the Halifax Pier.
For American gold wed fire no guns
Wed share a drink and when it was done,
Wed shed no tears for the broken men of the Halifax Pier.

Well here I am in my twenty-third year, I arrived in Halifax yesterday.
I stood on the docks and watched my ship sail away.
It was then that I came to realize,
My place was where the sea meets the skies,
And that feeling would never sway.

Shed no tears, for Im a broken man on the Halifax Pier.
For twenty three years its sailed the sea,
Getting men where they need to be.
Shed no tears for Im a broken man on the Halifax Pier.
For many a day Id work the sea,
For that was where I wanted to be,
Shed no tears for the broken men of the Halifax Pier.
For American gold wed fire no guns
Wed share a drink and when it was done,
Wed shed no tears for the broken men of the Halifax Pier.

12th grader
Ark City, Kansas
About the author of Hallifax Pier.

This is an old sea ballad sung by sailors to lift spirits or to help take their minds off the toil of daily work.


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