Poetry

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Victims Of The Baltic Sea

by Payton Bame

“We the survivors are not the true witnesses. The true witnesses, those in possession of the unspeakable truth are the drowned, the dead, the disappeared.”

Primo Levi

Call to us

We rest in the deep blue

Forgotten

We have a story

As do many others

But ours ends here

In the unforgiving sea

The Wilhelm Gustloff

Now a metal skeleton

Resting and rusting

We are the lost souls

Who were once upon this ship

A terrible disaster

But so few know it

Here we tell the tale

Of what happened not too long ago

We the citizens and soldiers of Germany

Fleeing our home

For the Soviets were coming

We were afraid

The lines

Oh the horrid lines

We were begging and pleading

Trying to get a spot on any ship

To get to a safer place

We heard the different accounts

Of the atrocities Russian soldiers could do

The rapes and murders

Sent chills deep into our bones

None of us could fall victim

We must get on these boats

Prussia helped us escape with Operation Hannibal

Now Prussia no longer exists

Just like us

Finally we were chosen

Deemed able to survive

We climbed into the crowded ship

Absolutely terrified

We had no room

No space to breathe

At least we could leave

We couldn't shake off the intense fear

Soon after we left

The ship was hit with three torpedoes

The loud bangs and rushing of water

Sent us running for the stairs

Some of us died then

Trampled by those around us

Dragged under the literal and figurative sea

When we did make it to the upper deck

Many of us slipped and fell to our deaths

In the freezing ocean below

The screams became background music

Our ears already accustomed

To the crying and shouting

We scanned all around us

Our brains thinking nothing

Except for the repetitive desperate thoughts of survival

Who deserved to go onto the life rafts

Who was worth saving

When some made it to the rafts

They were pushed away in fear

That there'd be too many

We jumped into the water

Praying that we'd make it out of the Baltic

Here the souls have now gathered

Along with the other victims of the sea

No one wants to tell our story

Because we are Nazis by association

But we too are people

We are sons and daughters

Brothers and sisters

Mothers and fathers

Why can’t we be honored

Why can’t we be called brave

We aren’t the only lost souls

There was the General von Steuban

And the Goya and the Cap Arcona

Help us find our way

Nobody could want to remain

Forgotten in the deep blue sea

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The Deadliest Disaster At Sea- if you’re interested in learning more

“I'm Sorry”

By N/A

I’m giving this to you.

To forever hear me apologize.

For the things I never wanted you to feel.

Where my actions lowered you.

I’m sorry

My friends’ opinions differ.

Only one I see eye to eye.

But I still have my own thoughts.

Then again I agreed with yours.

I’m sorry

My tears, a river.

My guilt, a tumor.

My regret, an angry wasp nest.

Your disappearance was never frowned upon

I’m sorry

I was a leaning building

I fell on you

Killing what we had

I’m sorry

You're still here, only as an echo.

When you leave for the forest, you won't look back….

If you do….

I’m sorry

So hold this close.

Like you did with me.

Though, if i’m a memory.

Let this go.

Just remember….

I’m sorry

"Everything and Nothing"

by Nolan Tribbie
"A short thesis on the thoughts of an overthinker, and the higher powers watching over them."
Is there anyone who lies awake during the latest, darkest hours of the night,wondering where the next sunrise will take them?Do they understand nothing, yet somehow wonder about everything?Are they blind to what rests plainly in front of them, or is it visible even to anunconscious mind?Why does it invade their dreams? Why do they let it into their nocturnal havenwhen they spend their daily existence avoiding it? Is it that intrinsic in them?Do they think about what has happened before, and how it affects them in thepresent?Are we able to understand it? Or is there a limit to how much of it we cancomprehend?Do they wonder if it will wane, or if it has only begun?Asking “why” may be nonsensical and redundant, asking “why not” may open thedoors to some answers.Is it feared, or is it loved?Do they progress from it, or continue to regress?Are they manipulated by it, do they let it control? Or have they established theirfreedom, but are still trapped in an inescapable cycle?And it still remains a fleeting thought.Have they forgotten it’s true meaning? Do they remember why they think aboutit?Will they ever know? No. But it probably knows. You know?

"Thoughts"

By Nolan Tribbie
"A short poem about questioning existence and purpose"
Why is it all so hard to explain, why can’t it just be known?It runs through my consciousness every minute, but I’m still unable to grasp itI’ve tried to defeat it, I’ve tried to block itBut every time, the cycle starts overAnd when it becomes inevitable,I wonder to myself questions like this,Are my thoughts my own?Do I serve a purpose?Why here?Why now?How?Am I the one who would benefit from knowing?What do I mean to it? Who am I to it?I believe I’m the only oneSo prove that I’m notImpossible

“The Shadow"

By Nolan Tribbie
"This poem is based off of a real experience I had when I was young, and how it affected me to the point where I had dreamed the exact event, years later."
When I wake every day, and wait for my rideI see the shadow, coming from the house on the other sideHer movements seem almost like fabric,Flowing and thrashing in the wind,Like a mass of thin dark paperWith the schedule of a clock, she arrives without failA silhouette in the window, surrounded by a thin veilOf dimly lit apartment lightShe walks to her garden, filled to it’s edges with flowersAnd sprinkles an ocean’s worth of water onto their fragile petalsThey bend, they curve, the strain under the pressureAnd return to the floor, where they were once prematureI turn to my left, it has started to rainI can see something crying in the mellow, blue skyAnd when I turn back to the figure, I ask myself whyShe begins to danceLike a dark sheet, twisting in earth’s tearsThe figure could’ve been ten, or she could’ve been ninety
Almost impossible to see in her entiretyAnd she returns to the door, growing minisculeIt was soon time for me to start school.

Untitled

by Carter Hottle
The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?
As winter comes, so does the annual depression.Despite the bright lights and joy of the holidays; the cold weather and the grey sky weigh heavy on my shoulders.It’s as if my head has been frozen over.
Life drags me through snowy streets until I've lost all feeling in my fingertips, promising that our destination will warm me, but I bury my face in a scarf and allow myself to become content in knowing I may freeze to death before I get there.
Yes, although I would prefer to curl up in front of a fire, it will burn out eventually.Whomever I sit with, eventually, finds a will and a way to leave.My cup will run empty, and I will sit cold, alone in front of smoking ashes.
The cold will always return.
So I follow these thoughts and chase the freezing wind, hoping to find a place where I can feel the sharp bitterness of the cold, rather than the numbing ache I'm so accustomed to.Maybe then, I'll be able to truly appreciate the gentle embrace of warmth, of the fire.
I've seen her. She's out in the snow, too.I wish I could invite to walk with me, but she seems to have no interest in my company.
I often wonder how long winter will last.Sometimes it's a few weeks, sometimes months.Sometimes it feels as if winter never ends, but simply has rain instead of snow.
I've learned to layer my clothing, to move around and warm myself up.I'm still shivering, breathing on my hands to heat them up, still cold.But less so. I'm getting better.
I hate this weather.

Acceptance.

By Mason

Do not judge, by color,Do not judge, by religion,Do not judge, by style,Do not judge, by strength,Do not judge, by gender,Do not judge, by appearance,Do not judge, by sexuality,Do not judge, by language,Judge, by personality,Judge, by the inner person they are,Not by the outward person they show,

Be 100% you,Not who your friends want you to be,Do not be afraid,To show who you really are,Do not be afraid,To speak up for what's right,Do not be afraid,To show your true colors,Never be afraid,Even when everyone's against you,Never give up,Because sooner or later more colors will rise to fight the Dark,And alongside you,You are unstoppable,You are accepted.

Dreamer

By Johnathen Young, grade 11
I once was a Dreamer,I would look up at thestarts and think of thelife I could have, I usedto think I could holdthe universe in myhands, But that waswhen I was a DreamerI would make world'sand civilizations,I would give the minuscule reason forexistence, I held myhead high, But that waswhen I was a DreamerNow the Dreams havefaded, When I look atthe stars all I see arefairytales, I once wasa Dreamer, Now I'mawake

“This Is Where It Ends Pt.1”

By Whitney Kuma, grade 10
You.Those bright blue eyes were the ones that stole my breath,My soul.Your laugh,It was pure music.Those that heard it also heard the joy in it.What you know:I was your friend. You were my favorite favorite person.What you don’t know:I loved you as more. And at 3 a.m., for two months straight,I cried your name whilst crying to the beat of whatever sad Song I was listening to, hoping the stars would somehow Relay to you just how much I needed you, hoping that my Fear of vulnerability would disappear and then,I’d let you in on how I really felt about you.
And when I did finally let you in on how I really felt about You,After you’d already let me in on how you really felt about Her,We fell apart,At least I did.Now, I still converse with the moon, and I try not to wonder Where I went wrong.But, I didn’t go wrong.You didn’t either, despite what everyone thinks.Funny how I never told you how I felt ‘till now because I was Scared of what everyone would think.
Now I’m healing.Though whenever my brown eyes look into the bright blue Of yours, I begin to remember.I begin to regret.Maybe it was wrong to tell you, because I lost you.We haven’t talked for weeks, I didn’t sleep for days,Everything wasSpinning,Shifting, Changing inside my mind.
And to think,That the beginning of the end only occurred four weeks ago.It only goes to show,That life is not a fairy tale, and some things are better left Unsaid.‘Cause in the end,I’d rather die than lose what you were to me.God and the stars conspired to create our friendship.
I wonder what made them conspire to form the beginning Of our end?

The Monster

By Johnathen Young, grade 11
Do you still think anyonecould still love you,Even if you try to hide the monsterthat you've become? Allof the screams thatwon't go away, All ofthe cries of agony thatare in your head, Evenif they start to like youthey always find outabout the demons youhide, The monsters youhide from the world,They think you do it to protect yourself, But inreality you hold backthe horde for them,You say you don'tcare, You push themaway, You only wantto protect them for aslong as you can, Theonly way to kill it is todo what it says, Butnot now you think, Youdon't want to hurt yourfriends, You have todo it when no one willcare, You have to doit when the monster isall they see, You wantto get help, But youknow they can't, Thevoice is too loud andyou don't want them topout, For all this timeyou've fought forthem, Holding backthe darkness for yourfriends

Empty

By Samantha Swords, grade 11
I wonder what it was like, to be chosen.I was never chosen.I was a maybe, a probably sometimes even a definitely but never the one.Never the chosen one."Am i really not enough?" is a question i ask myself everyday.But you are.So Why am i never chosen?I'm looked at, but never seen Spoked to, but never heardIn what ways do i tell you that I'm the easiest person to be given up.Maybe I'll be half empty. What if I'll always be half empty? Will i always be half empty?When does one before half full?So many versions of me yet not one free.I feel so heavy inside and yet so empty.

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