Photograph by Chase Motherwell

Connotations has published student writing and photography since 1984 and is a member of both the National Scholastic Press Association and Columbia Scholastic Press Association. Printed editions featuring poetry, prose, illustrations, photography, and more are published annually. Our website aims to showcase creators throughout the year and features content which cannot be printed on paper.

Before the world had learned its mercy,

one man offered himself to the fangs.

From his blood grew the first forgiveness,

clear as water, strong as light.

His pain was endless, 

a ritual of pierces and punctures.

Each and every draw of blood

was met with deeper anguish than the last.

The venom started speaking holy hymns.

Not despite, but because of his torment;

His body had become something else,

and his heart had become a chalice of cure

We watched on from a distance,

with both horror and with awe.

But none saw that his suffering

was not death, but understanding.

After all that sting of bitter venom,

His universal remedy was this:

A finite number of scars,

is less ache than living in the past.

Still we call him “Fool,”

but maybe he is us—

Learning only a little too late

that to forgive is to stop the hurt.

A true prophecy is of the whispering creeks of death, 

Death that silently waits on the edge of reality, 

The church bells strike, a year off your life. 

And he tempts me with his invitations. 

He baptizes me deeper beneath the waves, 

His radiant embrace is the only visible light,

I sink in deeper, hoping for him to comfort me,

And to destroy this reality, and bring me to life.