Embedded Files
"The Greatest Gift..." by Anonymous
One day he’ll be gone and that day will be sad. But we’ll celebrate him because he gave all he had.
But what he gave was more than just things, more than candy or gifts or diamond rings.
He gave all his time, what spare he had to give. Was ours for the taking, that’s the kind of life he lived.
Those gifts were a plenty, filled with lessons and skills. From cutting the grass, changing a tire or using power drills. He taught me a fastball and how to catch a fish, respect for ma nature and how to make a good dish.
To respect others who show you the same, to give kindness to strangers even though you don’t know their name.
To look a man in the eye, take your hat off when they play the National Anthem on any given Sunday.
Your word is your bond that’s what he used to say. If you commit to a season, a season is what you’ll play.
Hard work will pay off, no matter the toil. Keep your goals in mind and don’t let anything spoil, your dreams that you have for the life that you want and you’ll get all you need and be short for the hunt.
But for all of these gifts that I’ve mentioned above, there is one that shines brighter and flies high like a dove.
It’s the gift that keeps giving for his whole life and mine, it’s one worth protecting and making it shine.
His last name is this gift that I’ve spoken aloud, I’ll protect it and honor it because it makes me so proud.
I’ll keep the standard high and carry the torch within.
For when he’s gone, his legacy lives on in the last name I’ll carry for him.
"Pensamientos Dolorosos" by David Archer
Sin ti me siento el vacío
La soledad de tu ausencia me ahoga
¿Por qué no estás?
¿Por qué el tiempo no se detiene?
Detesto los relojes
"Painful Thoughts" by David Archer
Without you I feel the emptiness
The loneliness of your absence smothers me
Why aren’t you here?
Why can’t time stand still?
I hate clocks.
"After viewing Mural of the Aztec City, Tenochtitlan by Diego Rivera" by Ramiro Cavazos
The bright open skies fill me with hope, joy and remorse. Remorse for stealing this beauty from the world. The flowing rivers, the bright colors, the intricate buildings. The culture that makes you feel like family. The coexistence and the structure that was crafted centuries ago. I want to live here, I wish I could live here. I can't anymore.
All that's left are the bodies of the dead. The brick that was laid hundreds of years ago, reduced to rubble. There is nothing I can do. I am powerless. This utopia can only be seen in picture, there is no touch, no feel left. Atop the rubble is nothing compared to the splendor of Tenochtitlan.
Bernice Gitiche
"It Follows Me"
She follows me.
My brother grabs my arm as we exchange glances.
She walks behind us in the store
Glaring with eyes drowned in suspicion
“Are you guys where you’re supposed to be?”
Of course we are.
Why wouldn’t we be?
It follows me.
It lingers in the public school hallways and classrooms.
It pours viscously from their mouths.
It hurts but they don’t care.
They follow me.
As their hands flow through my curly hair without permission.
I’m not a petting zoo.
They laugh as they tug my braids.
Mock my hair.
It’s my heritage. My culture.
They don’t care.
He follows me.
So do his blue and red lights that dance on the streets.
They protect us and serve us, my mother reminds eight- year old me and my cousin.
But be careful.
Be careful?
Be careful.
His voice follows me.
The voice of my cousin shot dead on the street.
The blue and red lights dance away.
But he deserved it, right?
It follows me.
The target painted permanently onto the backs of my family, my friends, and me.
"The Lemon Juice"
I was only eight when I wanted to try the lemon juice.
The light-skinned woman on my iPad screen
Smiled with her flashy white teeth
She was the solution
to the non-existent problem
society planted into the minds of girls like me.
It was a brutal August day
And the sun burnt my honey skin to coal.
My classmates tanned in her magnetic rays,
But the sun was something I grew to fear.
Because the blacker the berry
The more threatening the fruit.
Black
Was the color of a thug.
Black
Was the epitome of danger.
Black
Was the word painted on the back of my cousin
As the policeman shot him dead on the streets of Harlem.
Black
Was the last thing I wanted to be.
That brutal August day
I turned to the small family iPad we kept on the kitchen table.
My stubby, childish fingers desperately jammed into the keyboard:
How to make your skin lighter.
And I wanted to try that lemon juice
That the light-skinned woman with flashy teeth
Turned into a cream
That was supposed to mitigate my blackness.
Boys will like you better!
With this lemon juice.
You’ll become more photogenic!
With this lemon juice.
You. Will. Be. Prettier.
With this lemon juice.
I’m not sure what changed in me.
Whether it was the voice of my African ancestors
Who danced to the chimes of the mbira
In the warm Kenyan savanna.
Or perhaps the strength in my mother’s fingers
As she touched the stove’s fire while cooking fresh chapatis
As she used magic to turn my gravity-defying curls
Into a beautiful aura of braids.
Perhaps it was the fearlessness in my father’s eyes.
As he stood up for his people
Despite being in a world that would never stand up for him.
But eventually,
The lemon juice disgusted me.
Because Black
Is the color of my ancestors.
Black
Is the epitome of a survivor.
Black
Is the smell of fresh chicken from an aunties back porch
that migrates through the neighborhood streets,
gathering all of the cousins together.
Despite our pain.
Despite our grief.
Despite the whisper in our everyday life
That tells us we will never be enough for anything.
No matter how dark,
Black.
Will.
Always.
Be.
Beautiful.
Bernice Gitiche
"My Mother's Eyes"
I could feel the clog in my throat
A burning sensation
The tears wait on the edge of my eyelids
One blink and they would be set free
Rolling like a careless river down my brown skin
But then she walks in
She cups my trembling chin into her warm sugar hands
Her soft eyes speaking into mine
She brushes my hair like I’m a soft kitten
She makes me feel safe
My mother is the strongest woman I know.
“You can’t wear a crown with your head down,” she says
My red-stained eyes gazed up
Her radiant energy filled up every inch of the room
A power so strong I felt as though I couldn’t bear it on my own.
“Remember who you are.” I heard her say.
Her power.
Was within me.
Her strength.
Overwhelmed me.
Her confidence.
Empowered me.
I let the tears flow.
But not for long.
It was time to live my mother’s legacy.
To follow her steps.
I wiped the tears, for they were irrelevant to me now.
I looked up into the mirror.
The girl of my dreams stared back at me with my mother’s fiery eyes
"My Mother is a Flower"
Flora is her name.
Called after the colorful gems that grow from the soil.
She watches over her children
Like the sunflower follows the suns’ ray.
She stands tall like French lavender
Sweet as a peony
Her love as strong as a pink rose
But on the 21st of July
I held my mother in my arms
As her flower started to droop, browning at the rim
She shook as tears streamed down her honey skin
We stared over the coffin with fear shielding our faces.
Strong as a gladiolus
Bright as a lily
Now her vibrant colors were fading as our tears tainted the ground
Because a flower cannot grow without her sun.
Flora is her name.
She wore a yellow flower to the funeral.
She turns every bland circumstance into a flourishing garden.
And despite her clouds turning gray and her scorching rainless days,
My mother has always been a flower.
Triana Gonzalez
"Under The Same Moon"
As I dream to hold you
And to be by your side,
I gaze up at the blue
And continue to sigh.
I lay by the window.
The moonlight kisses my skin.
Fresh breeze blows.
As I feel my heartbeat within.
If only you knew
All the memories flowing through my mind
About our sweet rendezvous.
How I wish I could rewind.
So I lay here staring at the view
Hoping to see you soon.
But meanwhile, I’ll be missing you
Under the same moon.
"Under The Same Sun"
I wish I could forget you.
To erase you from my mind
And breakthrough.
This feeling is so unkind.
I hate you and you don't have a clue.
Like flames, I slowly burn.
These vibes are ripping me into two.
As I crumple and wish my old self would return.
My hands run through my hair.
The sickening thought of you makes my blood boil.
I watch my nostrils as they flare.
My eyes are overflowing with turmoil.
As I reflect on this pain you put me through
My madness takes a run.
But meanwhile I’ll be hating you
Under the same sun.
"The Girl" by Victoria Hughes
Mirroring myself, I see myself.
There is a four-year-old girl who is wondering what happened.
Innumerable insecurities plague me.
Her face is wet with tears.
She is starving herself. I see her.
I see the girl struggling to maintain her composure.
The girl I see every day takes Prozac.
A girl breaks. I see her.
She keeps everything bottled up until it overflows.
I see her struggling in the deep, dark sea.
Each time a strong wave comes, she's swept away.
As I watch the girl I see that she hates and loves both things at the same time.
“Days seem as if they’ll never end”
Relapsing is evident in her behavior.
Her struggle is evident to me.
The girl is finally succeeding.
Here I am.
It's me, the girl.
"Sonnet 1604" by Indigo Keener
What ho! Why is there a traffic jam here?
Is it daily traffic, a mundane bore?
Because on this loop, lines of stopped cars leer,
Was there a wreck? Someone call 444!
I wait and I wait, so much time I lose,
O, Lester Holt, sweet news anchor I say!
I’ve idled so long, I’ll miss the nightly news,
I languish as I’m stuck on this highway!
I’ve run out of tea, it’s 4:53,
Is there light at the end of this tunnel?
Gone 6 miles in an hour, woe is me!
Into one lane, all the cars, they funnel,
Verily! A car wreck on the right side!
A crashed Ford with smoke and fire to douse,
Poor Ford, methinks, I refuse to deride,
I speed past, and at last, I reach my house,
I enter my home, despair rushes through,
Alas, I’ve missed my news by minutes two.
"Perfectly Aware" by Maria Kyle
She’s perfectly aware
Of the the way her body folds and rolls
The way her thighs splay out onto the chair
She’s perfectly aware
Of the seemingly dreadful way her hair
looks tucked behind her ears
And the way her makeup doesn’t quite make
the red dots on her face disappear
She’s perfectly aware
Of the boy sitting across the room
He’s got it so easy
He’s unaware of the hate you can feel for you
But he too is perfectly aware
Of the way his body looks in his chair
The way it feels like everyone stares
He’s perfectly aware
Of how he looks to others
How he may never be perfect enough to be complete
Not like the girl across the room
All the other people in their seats
Their minds completely blank
Yet they’re perfectly aware too
"A Nap by the Riverbank" by John Liu
On the riverbank lies a lazy boy.
Eyes closed, mouth wide.
A slight breeze, some scattered chatter,
Lifts those droopy lids.
It’s a Thursday afternoon 1872.
With the Wedgewood blue river, under the Wedgewood blue sky.
A lonely leaf of a vessel floats down the river,
Merging into the shadow, leaving ripples of glitter.
At the other side of the bank more boats cuddle,
Gossiping around while spying on a couple.
Under the bridge she lays on his wrinkled shirt, hugging him by the neck
He tells her those stories of war, stories he would never run out of.
Chieftains, ashes, and canons.
At least the town is still in one piece.
Lit by warm sunshine, accompanied by tall green trees.
Under the slightly stingy sun lies a lazy boy.
Murmurs and the numbing tranquil
Closes his droopy eyes.
Isabella Lopez
"Solitude"
I step into the night
enveloped into the fog
Its intangible embrace allows me to feel
surrounded but apart
A wave of calm loneliness
washes over me
It is preferably to the sea of chaos
that consumes my life
it’s noises louder than the waves
which surround me
The stars always whispered
that to be alone was a crime
but thus the moon’s
last words echo
the choice to be alone is
a way to be linked
to all that exists
to partake in the emptiness
we hold so dear
and so near
in this empty space
between galaxies
"To Spite Logic"
Despite logic and combined common sense of 7.753 billion people
the stupidity of the world never ceases to surprise me
you'd think I'd be used to it by now but no
without planning or hesitation someone in the world will hurt someone else
they gain nothing but pain for all involved yet they continue
day after day week after week year after year
if an ai can learn that punching itself in the face is bad in a week
you'd think that in 200,000 years of existence we that created the ai
would have already stopped hurting ourselves
yet here we stand
on a mountain of our own creation despite lack of intelligence
we got here somehow but each day the power grows and the integrity weakens
and if it goes too far this mountain surely will crumble
Isabella Lopez
"Realms"
So many realms
they coexist within me
But it’s not peaceful
It’s a war
There are so many opinions,
thoughts and ideas vying within me
Sometimes they take turns
Sometimes it gets messy
I’m never sure
If there will be war or if there will be peace.
I don’t know if you
understand what the battles can do
to the inside of you
It can hurt so very much
I have to fight too
And sometimes I don’t make it back whole
Thats when I leave the inside
and search for the help
Outside
"Head Down"
Most of the time
I keep my head down
With a strict don’t look
don’t stare policy
I just keep my head down
and do what is required
But that can get tiring
very very tiring
Now here’s the problem
when I try to lift up my head
I find my neck has grown weak
and it can no longer hold up my head
The muscles of individuality
have been repurposed for conformity
It takes willpower and strength to
return those muscles to their purpose
I don’t know if I have that strength
that willpower within me
But I won’t stop looking for it
no matter who tells me it is gone
I am never gone.
"Space Camp: The Artist and the Astronaut" by Fr. Ben Nelson
At the ripe old age of nine, I decided to be an astronaut.
Gravity-defying, rocket-riding, star-crossed space voyager.
Chili Bowl haircut, fruit-stripe gum loving, with a collection of action figures from a galaxy long
ago and far, far, away...
I was the captain.
Husky Jeans and a swatch watch, ready for anything.
PF Flyers, GI Joe T-Shirt, and a smile that could light up a room.
Nothing could stop me.
dreams were real.
hope was expansive.
love was unbounded.
I was going to be the world’s first artist/astronaut -
a painter to the stars
a supersonic Picasso
Rembrandt in a spacesuit.
somewhere along the way someone told me I couldn’t do it...
The astronaut and the artist were replaced by the bully and the backbreakers.
The corrosive chorus that sang in my ears until the dream was drowned out and the hope
became a spaceship fueled with 100 percent high octane scarcity, comparison, and shame.
“Who do you think you are with your cheap fake watch and your off brand corduroys?”
“Your art stinks and your hair is stupid.”
“Smash that canvas and dip that brush in fear because mediocrity is all you’ve got.”
“Artist and astronaut- child, please.”
Child. Please.
Look for that nine-year old self that believes anything is possible.
Look to that third grader to remind you that in a galaxy far far away...
You’re still the captain,
a supersonic Picasso,
Rembrandt in a spacesuit.
Remember your dreams and look at yourself with the same loving eyes that knew you could
soar among the heavens and paint the skies. You light up a room with your smile and defy
gravity. You create the place where hope and love collide to make a cosmic work of art. You
are the Captain.
3-2-1 Lift-off.
Ifigenia Omiridis
Ifigenia Omiridis
After Viewing ‘Two Men Contemplating the Moon’ by Caspar David Friedrich
Why does the moon sit and wait patiently for the sun to rise?
Why does it live solemnly and silently, alone in its golden glow?
Does it wish to see flowers bloom under it,
or does it enjoy the way the trees whisper small stories below?
I wonder is it jealous of how the sun is worshiped?
But oh, I hope the moon sees how we stare.
How on a summer night it provides a cooling light,
one that is calm and serene.
I wish for it to notice how right here, right now,
we are in awe.
I could capture this moment forever in my mind’s eye,
the endless abyss of the nighttime sky
The moon could pass for the sun right now
For it is shining across the rolling hills with swimming grass
the trees are singing in its spotlight
And we keep saying
“what a night”
Youth
Youth
Little kids learn to play with toy guns,
It is all for fun
Full of laughter
Their youthful days spent in the sun.
Teenagers learn to not fight,
that sometimes it is better to
run.
In an ideal world, they would be full of happiness
but that world is not real and,
ours is loaded with fear.
Grown men bicker and cry,
as if they are infants not by their mother’s side.
“I want the land back!“ they whine, “It is mine!”
They throw their tantrums, but do not pick up their mess.
No.
That is for their parents who are
thirty years too young.
They are the ones who grab the gun, fight the war, hear cries, and see innocent lives,
lost,
to the brutality caused by the okurok and his oligarchs.
Why do they get to survive but the youth don’t?
"Grades>Learning" by Franco Parra
RING! RING!
The bell has rung
School has begun
I get to first period ready for judgment
Ready to be assigned a number
A number that measures my intelligence
A number that is determined by how much information I can cram into my head
A number that when low
deals a blow so powerful that it feels like a cannon hitting my self esteem
The number screams at you and calls you an idiot
All because you failed to memorize an insignificant number in chemistry class
I don’t care about what I learn
Don’t care about school
Just care about the grades
So on paper
I don’t look like a fool
This is why students cheat
It’s why student don't learn
Because school has become a thing
That benefits the cheating
If you study and learn
You’ll do pretty well
But with a cheat sheet
You’ll have no concern
A perfect score you will “earn”
The effects of this haven't begun
But they will soon
We’ll have a generation of fools
Doctors who cheated their way through medical school
Can’t even name their medical tools
Pilots who can’t land
Teachers who can’t teach
The cycle will repeat
Endlessly
Grades, Grades, Grades
It’s all that matters nowadays
We shouldn’t be tested off what we memorized in a day
Because cheat sheets are easier to memorize than what the teachers attempt to convey
We’ll have a generation of fools
Of people who cheated
Their way through school
Something must change and it must change soon.
Priya Tewari-Price
My Nature
Unrestrained laughter
Thick blobs of tears
Thick globs of paint
Rough canvases
Colorful hands
With tapered fingers
And pinked knuckles
Walking late at night
Listening to life through a speaker
Exhilarating flights of adrenaline fueled fancies
We’re going to walk to Paris
Let’s walk to that hill and scream
Do you think we’d be able to swim across the Atlantic?
Sure, it can’t be that hard
Scalding hot showers
Uncontrollable sobs
Silent heaves
Wishing to scream
Eyes popping out of my head
Fingertips tingling
Gagging
A constantly aching chest
Forever fidgeting hands
Laughing and red faces
Aching stomach
Sun warmed back
Cold and warm hands
Shivering
Sweating
Colorful patterns in my mind
They can’t escape
Knots and nature
Waiting
Do Not Touch The Art
Hues of red coat my hand;
Oceans sit on my fingertips
Do not touch the art
A field of dandelions rests in my palm;
Patterns grow on my arm
Do not touch the art
Mother earth coats my heart;
Pink softness covers my eyes
Do not touch the art
Violets weave themselves into my hair;
Fire in my chest
Do not touch the art
Santiago Reding-Ortiz
Hope is not Cool
Hope is cliché
It is the sunshine of your life,
It’s the warm cozy feeling,
It’s a smile from an old friend,
It’s kindness from a stranger,
It is all of those things at once
But just like all those things,
Hope is also true,
And just because it doesn't sound cool,
That doesn't make it any less true.
On Geese
Honk and Squeal,
Proud and resentful,
These are geese,
And also people.
Once almost gone
Another extinction of man,
But due to luck
They grew out of hand.
Invasive and frail,
Attackers and evil,
These are geese,
And also people.
Myrthea Vigil
The Months without You
Life is short just like September,
where we wait for a time when we can eat together.
I watch you through the screen, your eyes shining like embers.
My heart I gave to you freely believing you were a treasure.
Colored leaves fall in October.
The food burns forgotten on the stove,
as I sit on the couch watching you sing through the television.
Your voice as sweet as the day I met you.
The wind blows hard as Halloween comes around
The children squeal with delight as they run around looking for candy to steal.
I do not see you tonight on the screen,
Instead, I lie awake in the night as my heart aches.
November is here, but the time has not passed.
I do not eat for there is no time.
I see you briefly on the screen but push past for I will see you soon.
I stand before the stone wishing you were here, but alas you are dead and gone.
Light in the Dark
Do not trust the world for it is cruel
It will hurt you and leave you to suffer
But in the dark, there is always a bright light
You were my light in the dark
That one bright thing that made me smile but,
Do not trust the world for it is cruel
You were the moon and I the stars that enveloped you
The world tore us apart and left us in the dark
But in the dark, there is always a bright light
We did not have long together but it felt like an eternity
We broke apart and I am to blame.
Do not trust the world for it is cruel
I saw you again after 12 years
Our love withered over time
But in the dark, there is always a bright light
I miss you, my love
and I wish we had more time but,
Do not trust the world for it is cruel
But in the dark, there is always a bright light
Myrthea Vigil
Lily Flower
The sun shone over the grassy field.
Your smile as bright as the sun,
your red hair blowing in the wind.
I remember how you spun around, your joyful laughter like a sun drop.
Your smile brighter than the sun.
My beautiful lily flower, so free and full of joy
you spun around with joyful laughter
But all of that ended as they came and destroyed
My beautiful lily flower so full of joy
your emerald eyes shined brightly
but dimmed as they came and destroyed.
at night I whisper your name lightly
Your emerald eyes shined brightly
I miss you my lily flower,
I whisper lightly,
as my heart breaks by the hour
Death is a Friend
Death is a friend
that comes to you at the worst time
to guide you to where you need to be
they are gentle and understanding
enduring the harsh words and blows you send their way
Death is a friend that is there in the shadows waiting for you
Someone who welcomes you with open arms
Death is not the enemy you think they are
Death is the friend, the peace you didn’t know you needed.
"More than Paint" by Myrthea Vigil
Cold windy blue sky above a golden field
That is all she sees. Her mother says that she should go deeper
but she doesn't see the point. Just oil paint on a canvas
that’s all it is. How wrong she was
In truth, it was not just paint, on a canvas,
it was an image full of emotion, and
dark blue skies that sit above a golden field.
Death flys over as it calls out for its next victim.
Wind blows through the golden wheatfield
like a whisper in the night. The glowing moon
shines above illuminating the dark night
with her silver hue.
She snaps back and stares at the painting in awe,
her mother was right.
"Lovers Lost" by Myrthea Vigil
A roaring fire burned inside the musty fireplace.
Thoughts consumed her, wrapping around her like thick smoke.
thoughts of sorrow and better times. The sound of crows
snaps her out of her dazed dream. Looking up at the sun Apollo
so kindly bestowed upon them. Smoke coils out of the chimney,
showing the remnants of a battle lost. Fire dances, like a serpent, full of dazzle.
The room shifts to the remnants of a battlefield, where a burning warrior dazzles
its victims. She snaps back to the present, where wood burns in the fireplace.
A dusty cloud forms above the chimney,
surrounding it with a thick cloud of smoke.
The sun god watches from his palace in the sky, as Apollo
weeps for lovers lost. All she sees is black like the feathers of a crow.
Death nears she hears the call of a crow.
The sun seemed to dim, no longer dazzling.
It was as if the sun had lost its life as Apollo,
mourned. The wood creaked as the wood in the fireplace,
burned away. The girl coughed as gray smoke
engulfed her. As Death watched with sad eyes from the top of the chimney.
Soon the time would come for the girl to leave, death glided off the chimney.
He neared the house door, a crow
perched on his shoulder. The thick gray smoke
coiling around him as he passed, it was almost dazzling.
The girl sat near the fire, her face a sickly color as she watched the wood burn in the fireplace.
In the sky, a light began to fall, to say goodbye for the last time. As the fates would say “poor Apollo.”
He watched from afar as the life of his lover drifted away, “poor Apollo.”
Death entered the house standing behind her smoke from the chimney
wrapping around him. she looked away from the fireplace,
turning to see the face of Thanatos who seemed to dazzle
all. Her eyes water as she smiles a sad smile and steps into the smoke.
In the distance the cawing of a crow.
Black takes the sky as he sees a murder of crows,
fly by. The fates simply say “poor Apollo”
The sun god weeps as the smoke
takes his lover. The gray smoke stops spewing from the chimney.
Thanatos walks away with a frown, his face no longer dazzling.
The fire stops burning, as cold winds snuffs the fireplace.
Smoke no longer coiled outside the chimney.
Apollo weeps as he watches the cold lifeless fireplace.
A crow caws and the sun god’s face goes dark no longer dazzling under the sun.
"Empty" by AnnaClare Walker
My feet went numb and my entire body froze.
No one had any control over anything.
I close my eyes and wait for death.
They were desperately hungry.
I knew I was hungry…
I was too hungry to cry.’
This madness will last…
…kill these people in front of you.
I wanted to melt away.
…but each attempt was more pitiful than the last.
I will completely die and all that will be left is an
empty body
walking with you.
"Fix" by Jen Wentlandt
I’ve learned to keep a doc open
on a laptop
on the bar
in the middle
of my house
So when a thought flies through
Deviant bird through an outdoor market
Instead of trying to kill it
I capture it
Feed it
Feel its feathers quiver beneath my fingers
Swiftly press it into words
Like flowers between book pages
"Legend" by Jen Wentlandt
If the only true human superpower
Was what the Muses sang forth
To Apollo and his lyre
Nymphs in ears of man, whispering
Daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne
Breathing beauty and form
Inspiring wisdom and truth
Song lyrics and rhymes divine
Then it is the poets
Of words
Of grace
Of Music
Of color
It is poets who will save us all.
"Wild Geese" by Jen Wentlandt
In her orange pink first breath, Gaia begins to tell
me what will become of me
She hums breathwind into the day and goes about
Opening the cloud sills and ignoring the despair,
All that is mine and yours,
All the world weight so crushing, and
Yet your simple gesture brings me to where I
Have to admit, I cannot and will
Not be pretending anymore, because they can tell
Your future from the lines in your hand for you
And there is nothing but dirt and blood in mine.
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