Poetry

The End of the Rainbow

by "Atlas Wendel," 8th grade

The waves hit the shore-

yet not leaving the sand wet.

The dusk makes a roar-

and has the stars set.

The snow, the rain-

makes my gemstones spin.

The hurt, the pain-

Makes me doubt the win.

I wonder how-

from where and when.

Will it put me in wow-

If I reach it then?

Will there be gold?

Will it sparkle or glow?

In order to get there, I must really behold-

The amazing end of the rainbow.

Burn

Nora Lee, 7th grade

To be a self is to be a flame

For fire pays no consequence

Ruthless and cut throat burns the mind

Fire rages on

It destroys

It ruins lives

It plunders

And takes

Until nothing else resonates

Everyone blames the intoxicating light

But what can they truly do

They render helpless against the overbearing Fahrenheit

Maybe the sparks are a privilege

The joyous will of freedom

The power to be pillaged

Fire is inaccessible, I suppose

It is barricaded and undisturbed

For it burns and bleeds its foes

There are other answers

On the principalities of fire

What it is and what it means

But like one’s Self,

Fire

Has many sides

It is everlasting life itself

Warmth enraptured by resilience,

Light

It can be virtuous

Sacred, a harmonic symbol

Or it can lure you into death

Like a coin flip

Or a spinner

You never know what type of fire you’ll get

When, the match is lifted

When the church has crumbled or whence the rats feast to finality

The answers–gifted

You can

Attempt

To figure it out

Odd the probabilities

In a perpetual game

Fueled by the burns of the crashed

But at the end of the day,

To be fire, a flame

Is to learn how to let go and burn

The Mirror That Wouldn’t Sit Still

by Milena Sipman, 7th grade

The world keeps handing me mirrors.

Big ones, small ones.

Even strange, warped ugly ones.

But even the largest mirror, can fail to show you

what you really hope to see.

Sometimes I’m just too quiet

and the mirror thins my voice

to the width of a thin, thin needle.

Other days I’m far too loud

and the mirror gasps for every breath.

Or maybe I’m just not enough,

as if I don’t exist.

And the mirror tears me to shreds.

You can’t see me.

Not at all, not even a little bit,

I’m just too small.

It almost feels that I am the mirror.

If it shakes, so do I.

Maybe if it shattered, broken to bits,

I’d fall down to the ground

and start crying for the both of us.

So I walk so gently

as if surrounded by needles.

One wrong step and it shatters.

I learn to sit still, be calm and quiet

so I’m the version people want me to be.

To exist in a way that makes others stop trembling.

But mirrors don’t sit still.

Not when they are controlled by anyone but you.

But I’m not the mirror.

And it’s not me.

So I must find the strength

to put down the wrong mirror.

To find the right mirror in my hand.

The one that belongs to me,

not to them,

not to you,

only me.

The beauty of the mind

by Gianna Hoch, 8th grade

Beauty of intelligence

We all have learned something

From walking all the way to algebra

But the one thing many people forget is

The beauty of the mind

Everyone is worried on how they look on the outside

Instead of the inside

They think the outside is important

when they should be working on the inside

People do not care about learning math and reading

They care about their social life

And who has the most followers on tik tok

Then the more important thing get crushed

We are losing this world to social media and

This is bad and it needs to stop

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