By Caroline Galeotafiore
October 26, 2010
There are so many questions, yet nearly no answers,
Like a choreographed routine without any dancers.
Life is like math without any numbers.
Add more problems to the equation, and it all will encumber,
Impede, and hinder the ability to live in this world,
To look around you and be amazed by all that’s unfurled.
The glass is half empty until it’s actually full.
You can’t cash a check if it’s void and it’s null.
It is hard to comprehend that walking means nothing
Unless you’re fully aware that you’re capable of running.
The same goes for life and all that it entails.
Keep the train on the track, but beware of the rails.
How can the world stop when she’s full speed ahead
And she’s running so fast that she’s tripping over her legs?
It’s about time to slow down and ease up on the pace.
Life has become a never ending race.
No visible finish line is anywhere in sight,
Yet for some reason, we don’t let up; we keep on with the fight.
It becomes difficult to determine what to chase after,
But it’s simple to notice the miles of outstretched disaster,
Spread out like a disease that’s infecting us all.
If we can’t find the antidote, we will crumble and fall.
Like a tree in the winter that’s lost the last of its leaves,
This world’s got it coming, soon to be brought to her knees.
We’re about to break like an old rubber band,
Stretched past its threshold, condoning issues at hand.
Humankind seems to have long ago stopped living out its purpose,
Encaged by a madman named Society who fails to reserve us.
The wheels of insanity continue rolling along,
Spinning out of control like an out of tune song.
The heart of the world is wearily beating,
Reverberating with the sound of our innocence fleeting.
If we were bestowed a genie and given three wishes,
We should beseech her to not let us all swim with the fishes.
Take care of this place that you imprudently take for granted
Or we’re stuck with the losing pair of cards we’ve been handed.
Then, there’d be no choice but to fold and be defeated in vain.
I urge you to be tactful and carefully play out this game.
Mother Earth’s not bluffing her own self-destruction.
Soon enough, she’ll show us her final reduction.
By Peter Rice
October 12, 2010
A black dusty night enveloped a meek and dreary young boy,
Who walked up and down empty streets, waiting for people to meet.
While a trotting, he could smell pumpkins rotting, and—
From the trees came entreating whispers and tapings from the forgotten.
“Is there someone there who has begotten me?” trembled the weary young boy.
Replied the nameless, “Only me, your forgotten shame.”
“What trickery must a shameless friend of beastly hate
Propagate such an unfortunate realm of fate?” thought the weak young boy.
Running uniquely with arms flaring their blaring message of fear, A squeaking shriek could be heard as the debating whispers laughed at the absurd.
“Why must you haunt me with your soulless gaze?” shouted the taunting boy.
Replied the nameless, “I only acclaim your forgotten shame.”
Startled by the sight of a black crow, the young boy without foresight fell amidst the night.
The bird came closer, closer, and closer to the boy frozen with severe fear.
The nearer he came to reclaim a dying shame, the darker it became.
A shimmering tear streaked across the cheek of the young boy called Freak.
“I have been blamed for being lame, but must you choke me with such shame?”
Replied the nameless, “The darkest law from forevermore has come to reclaim you.”
The crow began to peck as the boy pulled in his neck.
Shaking on the floor – dreaming of the bay – the undaunted evil was scared away.
A bearded man with a can of candy lifted the young boy.
“My dear child, let fear die from thy heart,” whispered the old man of roses.
“Loves light will protect you tonight.”
Standing straight to the gaze of hidden eyes, he extended his hand to the old man.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” said the boy with a greeting smile.
Looking around, street lamps revealed the scampering monsters of the night
To be nothing more than children hallowed by the costumes of a midnight’s plight.
Walking back home all alone, the weak and weary young boy thought, “Can I never leave, even on Halloween?”