THE MUSE
amhs student literary magazine 8.02
muse \ ˈmyüz \ noun. a source of inspiration; a state of deep thought or dreamy abstract
TABLE OF
CONTENTS COVER Emerson Brown
dear reader 05
ART Spring Lakeside, Lee Kirkland 09 Follow the Lego Brick Road, Alex Wong 12 Rhythm Cycle of Day and Night, Jonathan Lin 16 | 17 Not A ‘Phase,’ Alex Wong 26 Where did the good old days go?, Ava Scott 31 Omnipotence, Jonathan Lin 47 Still Life with Assorted Fruits, Elaine Ma 48 The Plague, Jennifer Dick-Peddie 52
PHOTOGRAPHY Heart on le Grass, Alex Wong 08 Burning Sky, Alex Wong 10 Paint, Alex Wong 11 Madison Lin 14 | 18 | 19 | 28 | 29 Enya Liu 15 Leah Cawley 21 Ariadine Antonio 22 | 23 | 36 Anjani Nabar 24 | 33 JUE 12, Thi Nguyen 27 4:07 pm, Enya Liu 30 Ruby Lee 32 Clara Schultz 34 Love, Alex Wong 35 Beauty of Water and Green, Leah Cawley 37 Juliana Bernal 39 | 42 c’est la vie, Juliana Bernal 43 Elizabeth Yang 46
POETRY 06 Paradoxical Perception, Caylee Correia 07 Artificial Love, Caitlyn Boynton 09 EE’S AND OH’S, Benjamin Mui 10 This Feeling, Angel Torres 11 I Know I Can Do It, Eesha Sivakumar 13 Shake, Alex Wong 13 Shudder, Alex Wong 14, Release, Alex Wong 15 I Know, Anik Hoskeri 18 Weary Bones, Marin Garand 20 Buoyancy of Circulated Love, Ave Pulido 21 Can You Control the Time, Thi Nguyen 22 Retired Shoes, Benjamin Mui 23 Country Lanes, Kori Zacher 24 Brianna Wiles 25 Grey Night, Benjamin Mui 28 A View Over Bustling City Lights, Benjamin Mui 29 It’s in the Past, Madison Tada 31 Where Did the Good Old Days Go?, Ava Scott 32 Concept of Time, Hannah Kitchener 33 Missing Someone, Benjamin Mui 35 Lovers on a Long Lost Night, Dhwani Kharidia 36 The Melody, Gabriel Brenner 38 | 39 The Soul on a Hill, Alex Call 40 Sisyphus, Benjamin Mui 46 Lamentations of an Older Sister, Alex Wong 49 | 50| 51 The Clock Tower, Kevin Liu 53 Dark Abyss, Nathan Elias
SHORT STORIES 27 The Girl Who Tampered With Time, Melanie Cheung 44 | 45 Mark of the Titan Lord, Jonathan Lin
SIX-WORD STORIES 41 Jonathan Lin 41 Kori Zacher 41 Nathan Elias 41 Brandon Azhar
MUSIC 34 2:05, Clara Schultz
dear reader: We introduce to you The Muse's second edition for the 2021-2022 academic year. This spring, we decided to give submissions a theme: time. Time is a subject that can be perceived and demonstrated in a variety of ways. For high school students, time may be spent completing an assignment before a deadline or attempting to strike a balance between work and relaxation. Time may refer to how much longer our seniors have left at Mitty before heading off to college. Students created artwork, photography, poems, and other creative works to illustrate how they interpret time. Just as with any great piece of art, interpretation belongs to the viewer. The same can be said for all of the poems, photos, and stories from your fellow students. The concept of time differs from one student to the next, and our artists’ works reflect this. As you turn the pages of The Muse, you'll find stories and poetry that we hope you will be able to relate to, and photographs and art pieces that allow you to put your own spin on the meaning of time. The color palette and layout this semester are simplistic to not distract from the works of art in the magazine. With only deep black, muted white, and ‘burlywood’ yellow, the color scheme does not overwhelm the art pieces, which provide their own pops of color to the pages. We end this note with the hopes that you will be able to happily peruse the carefully designed pages of The Muse, and be able to understand each student’s definition of time. As the ancient Greek philosopher Theophrastus once said, “Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend.” The students whose work is showcased spent valuable time this semester to explain their vision of time through their art, poetry, photography, and writing. We hope that you enjoy.
Madison Lin ‘25
Paradoxical Perception Caylee Correia ‘25 Some say right now, we are living in the rumored post-death flashback. Is this why time feels so fast at times, and at other times so slow? The origin of deja vu supports this: When we feel like we have already lived a life, Or have experienced a moment, It’s because we really have. There is such a concept with death, But your life can’t flash before your eyes because Death would be impossible. If there was no such concept as time, Aging would occur much more slowly, Since we can’t keep track of how long we have lived. Our perception of time can classify as a disorder, Almost like a trial of hallucinogens.
This unnamed concept, tied with time, Rings a chime with rhyme, In which our lives are in The hands of whatever decisions we made In our initial lives. We now continue this loop, Forever reliving our best and worst moments; Our first and most recent lovers, And everything in between.
Artificial Love Caitlyn Boynton '23 People often use nature to describe their love, but my love has never been labeled as anything other than artificial. Artificial, fake, man-made, a delusion. I tried to be natural, I tried to be like the normal lovers But I am a liar. Everyone knows I am not natural. My lover is not natural. I am told that all I know is not real. I created this fall from grace all by myself I have been transformed into a Midas against my will. Everything I touch is artificial. Artificial, fake, man-made, a delusion. Are the roses that bloom between us also fake? The iridescent red that I colored with my devotion Turned into a cold plastic within my hands. But my lover has planted a seed of salvation within me, And I have been rescued from the violence of who I was before. Even if it is still false in the eyes of the world. They hold the thorns of my love to my throat and Denounce my savior.
But I say, so what? We found sanctuary in our bodies Hidden away from the natural lovers. If I must hide, I will hide with my artificial creation. I will remain at the hands of my delusion for a little longer. My tears born from the cruelty I face pale in comparison To the happiness I feel when I’m with my lover. The world struggles to pull a smile out of me, But it’s an ever present feature around the one I call mine. My love has never been labeled as anything other than Artificial. My lover is a fake. These roses are man-made. And I am nothing but a delusion. But it’s still love nonetheless.
Heart on le Grass Alex Wong ‘22
EE’S AND OH’S Benjamin Mui ’22 And as we fall down on our knees Looking up at the light flooding through the trees How soft the grass feels under my toes Pleading to nature, “Teach me how to grow” Softly falls the flaking snow Preferring the cold instead of darkness we’ll never know Plunging into nothingness or dreams in our sleep Remembering the love we give and not the love we keep How I love listening to your sweet melodies But I still see shadows of distant memories And just as the rushing river flows Run and wash away the blood and pains of the soul Now I demand back the heart that you stole So that I may once again feel complete and whole And how fortunate it is that we continue to bleed The red confirmation that I can still feel something
Spring Lakeside Lee Kirkland ‘23
Burning Sky Alexandra Wong ‘22
This Feeling Angel Torres ‘25 What is this feeling It hurts but also feels good I feel lost but yet so close Just out of reach of something I already have So new but feels like an old friend who would always be by your side But you stopped talking to that friend because they hurt you Feels like my chest is floating Then my chest is sinking I am so confused Is this No... Is it...
I Know I Can Do It Eesha Sivakumar ‘25 Good times, and bad times, are part of life I tell my mind, Be steady and wise I know I can do it I feel despair, I feel defeated, I have many things to repair I know I can do it Piece by piece Step by step, like a bud becoming a flower, Not everything comes with ease But, I know I can do it I strengthen my resolve Like a passing cloud, this too shall pass I am ready to evolve Bring on any challenge—I know I can do it
Paint Alex Wong ‘22
Follow the Lego Brick Road Alex Wong ‘22
Shake Alex Wong ‘22 Crown of needles Gently piercing, Silvery sparks Alight in my mind Stretching and grasping Trembling spirits Shivering hands Still.
Shudder Alex Wong ‘22 The pricking upon my eye A halo of thorns Adorns my skin A trio on either side I stare into the wide expanse Lavender seas-Gentle protrusions Caressing electricity sparking.
Release Alex Wong ‘22 there are many fish in the sea-yes thank you. i know. but of every fish i’ve seen so far it was this one that i chose to care for. to love and hold dear to me-scales glimmering in the sunlight. to capture it in a tank is cruel and terrible. walking on the coast i watch it dance away from me.
Madison Lin ‘25
I Know Anik Hoskeri ‘25 I know. I know The way of the world. Do I know How to grow? That’s a question. I know How to feel my expressions. I know The feelings of people. I know Some call me the saint, some call me all knowing. I know But I wish sometimes I could grow more. I know Sometimes I wish I could learn, experience more, and grow.
Enya Liu ‘23
Rhythm Cycle of Day and Night Jonathan Lin ‘23
Weary Bones Marin Garand ‘23 I find myself in front of an echo of a home long gone. The front door, once a lovely cabernet color, is now an ashy brown. The trim is peeling and the paint falls off in sheets. I try my best not to touch anything, not wanting it all to fall apart. Maybe it’s too late for that. The clunking noise of my suitcase rolling over the stone tiles sounds like high heels clicking on the stairs, and I close my eyes, lost in the fleets of memory. I can hear the delighted shrieks of two little girls chasing each other around the living room, fingers reaching wildly. Chili bubbles on the stove, cats wind between barstools. Love curves in the curl of his hand on her hip, and she laughs-My eyes fly open, and I let the pain slip out in a drop onto my cheek, splattering to the floor. Shadows of forgotten people shift around the room, whispering. I close my eyes again, wishing to find that family again, but they are already lost. I nod quickly, and the house is gaunt, silent. My eyes run over the collapsed staircase; the dusty floors; the invisible handprints that pain has left on these old, frail walls. I make sure the door closes gently behind me, and I let time swallow the bones of the home that rests behind it.
Madison Lin ‘25
Buoyancy of Circulated Love Ave Pulido '23 I will always remember that day, your hand like a light in my shadows my dear heart couldn’t stay at bay as I began to dip my feet into the shallows. Drifted out to sea, the retired feelings flooding back, although my mind begged to disagree, the heart speaks that this isn’t just an act. Further away I am drifted reminded of those times of the past. The waves that have me lifted understand that this infatuation has outlast. The warmth of the rays that beat down on my face bring me back to those days when it was your smile that always had me embraced. Those times are now gone. It is here we meet again. Recounting what we’ve undergone, I stand here with you in the sane. Although the future is uncertain, all I hope is that I’m not a burden. What I do know now that is for certain is love circulates time and time again.
Leah Cawley ‘25
Can You Control the Time Thi Nguyen '23 can you control the time? because you keep me waiting even if I am disappointed it’s officially spring now but it still feels like the dead of autumn how else would that be possible? did you control the time? when you’re in love does time pass by quickly or does it feel like a soothing slow it was both; moments filled with more electricity than time could comprehensively capacitate that it went by slow, but the collective experience was too fast, rather too short will you control the time? I want to go back, or no, let's skip to the future for healing a physical tangible warmth can’t just transform into cold breezes of wind you do control the time turning a reality and truth into only a memory or maybe even just a dream actually, they say we didn't exist in this timeline at all
Retired Shoes Benjamin Mui ‘22 Lifeless lay the line of long looking shoes But flowing are the memories inside them Back during the time with nothing to lose Eager and crisp before the journey ahead
Savoring love for a time far shorter Than that of which we’ll be gone
Like the ballerina whose dancing ceased too soon Those tippy-toes and pirouettes lighting up the stage Last but for a sliver of time before the curtains close The once graceful dancer reduced to nervous and depressed Like the runner whose legs would carry him miles Where youth was indeed his greatest friend While age slowly outpaced his struggles And overtook him before crossing the finish line Like the veteran whose boots walked bloodied swamps Innocence was the first casualty of battle Followed by the friends lost along the way Their final words or screams echoing again Although the shoes sit serving as a reminder Of our past glories and triumphs… our golden years We still sneak our ways out and forward Finding life and fire beyond days retired
Ariadine Antonio ‘22
Country Lanes Kori Zacher ‘23 She drove a ratty, old, sky blue Ford pickup With a rust-riddled white roof. The rubber tires squeaked and squelched And crunched along the Gravel and dust country lanes We roamed.
The wind on our hair, leaves blowing by — We were Free souls, spirits conjoined, and it felt Like Forever.
Ariadine Antonio ‘22
Brianna Wiles '23 Time: So short on time, There wasn’t enough time Before the day creeped up on us Like we never could’ve expected It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real— Neon brilliance was all I could see As a hymn filled the dull air around me It was over now, I would finally see
Anjani Nabar '25
Grey Night Benjamin Mui ‘22 The Grey Night creeps above the hill And dashes away the sunbeams That shone across the valley The once golden hills Now fade away into dusk But the silencing of the crow And slumbering of the rooster Still fail to bring peace and quiet As Night has only begun To reveal her orchestra in concert So it begins with the clap of thunder And the pitter of the rain Followed by the patter of the prowlers All the while the chirping of the birds Is replaced by the singing of the crickets The buzz of the tiny lanterns hovering in air Illuminate the groaning trees swaying Their leaves rustle in the frosty gale And fall into the grumbling river Flowing softly across the way Finally the lone spectator Standing solemnly in the meadow With tears falling in the fields Mourning the death of a rose Wilting among the grass
Anjani Nabar '25
Not A ‘Phase’ Alex Wong ‘22
The Girl Who Tampered With Time Melanie Cheung ‘24 With a swing of her legs, the girl hopped out of bed. Hazel eyes blinked, eyelids closing just slightly in an attempt to shield her sensitive pupils from the sunlight streaming through the two windows next to her. Ding-Dong! Alina groaned as she heard the sound of her doorbell ringing. Who on this gods-forsaken earth rings the doorbell at six in the morning... The girl got up anyway, groaning and grumbling under her breath in irritation. “I’m coming!” she shouted toward the doorway. Her mouth opened wide, head tipping back as she yawned and rolled her head in a circle at the same time. A pleasant smile crossed her face as she heard a few satisfying pops. How relaxing. Alina continued on her way toward her dresser, taking her time. She paused in her steps, however, contemplating the idea of a visitor. Had she really been expecting anyone today? Listing the few friends that she had in her mind, Alina shook her head. It made no sense. There shouldn’t be anyone at her door. Alina piled her unruly coffee-brown hair on top of her head in a lazily-made bun before tossing out a clean shirt and pants from her dresser. The girl changed quickly, stretching once again. Stepping into her slippers, Alina opened the door slowly, peering through the small opening she had made. She couldn’t help but blink once, twice, three times, her confusion written clearly across her pale features. “What...” “I just want to know that you are my favorite book character! I know how the story ends and I want to change it!”
JUE 12 Thi Nguyen ‘23
A View Over Bustling City Lights Benjamin Mui ‘22 Chirp chirp go the singing crickets On a warm and humid summer night Strolling brightly lit trails to the mountainside Leaning over a fence to admire the view Where the rumbling of cars on the freeway Is but a buzz and a line of lights down below Driving parallel and unaware Of the wondrous river made beautiful By shining lights reflecting off the surface And yet while the scene far away beckons me I find myself entranced by another Walking gracefully beside me—smiling Whose hair is wrapped in a messy bun Allowing stray strands to quiver in the wind What deep breath of fresh air void of fine dust Lifts the veil over my eyes and I see the world As one of infinite opportunities and joy For those who use youth as their guide And earnest dreams as their weapon To harness the time we’ve been given Along with the second chance Like the burning lights of the buildings Creating a city amongst the darkness of night Dreams such as these make crystal clear That romance or the potential of it Is worth living for.
It’s in the Past Madison Tada ‘25 I hope you know I still care about you Even if I do not show it enough I want to have a lot of fun with you But it would probably be kind of tough We act like we are strangers all the time We can't even look at each other now I can remember when I called you mine Now the memories in my head are quite loud I miss the times we used to live and laugh Remember when we would call for hours But it seems like it will be in the past Now I'm alone picking my own flowers I miss you with most of my heart and more But now I must move on and close that door
4:07 pm Enya Liu ‘23
Where Did the Good Old Days Go? Ava Scott ‘22 Where did the good old days go When we were Captain of the ship steering the helm I miss the beauty in make believe Now there are things I need to achieve The quiet moments have gone unnoticed I notice them now But I’m remembering how I didn’t fully value them then Is it too late To try to recreate the good old days I want to be more carefree Travel as far as a bumblebee Let’s sail all of the waves and chaotic sea Though they crash into me, that’s how the water flows Let’s make paper boats, and be children always Cause that’s how we make the new good old days
Concept of Time Hannah Kitchener '25 The minutes go quickly The hours slowly Days fast Suddenly the year is in the past Lots to do in a short time Make a rhyme Read a book Find a new look Time is a strange thing The concept makes a head ring A month ago feels like the day prior Days burn away like a fire
Ruby Lee ‘25
Anjani Nanbar ‘25
Missing Someone Benjamin Mui ‘22 I woke up to the rains coming again Pitter patter against my window sill Or maybe the sound was that of my heart Fluttering itself awake—ever fragile Jarred and frightened by the sound of thunder
And as the city is covered in purple and blue The setting sun casts its fading orange hue Leaving the multitude of cars passing in the night Seemingly aimless about their ways of travel Leading back to home… or nowhere
I thought of someone close today Close yet somehow as far as can be Like water dripping down the vine leaves above Like the walk sign changing to “stop” Or the lofty clouds sailing peacefully onward
Sketching the round lake that was ours Where I was given the chance to love someone Not everyone gets the chance to love somebody Along with having some amazing times with them Which is a million times better than none at all
Yet the sun still shines through the rain Indeed sparkling more brilliantly in the sky Causing the rocks on which we stand to glow While watching a little bumbling creek Created by the surely passing shower
I’m missing someone like you might be too Thinking to see them soon…or never again The times might be stopped but never gone It’s ok to miss someone because that means You Love And there’s nothing wrong with that Now is there?
2:05 Clara Schultz ‘23
Clara Schultz ‘23
Love Alex Wong ‘22 Lovers On a Long Lost Night Dhwani Kharidia ‘23 The melody of the cool breeze Grazing the branches and Whistling on the leaves As it dances in a dark night’s air The still water softly gliding Through the depths of the lovers’ world Chiming in the moonlight like the song of angels As they sit on the moist dirt The atmosphere covered with a blue luminescence Their world shrinks into nothing But the breathtaking scene in front Lit by the bright, glistening moonlight The lovers rest their heads On each other’s warm shoulder And look into the depths Of perpetual bliss
The Melody Gabriel Brenner ‘22 For as long as I remember I’ve heard the melody, the melody that is broadly spoken. Continually hearing the repetition that life is too short, an idea I had no resentment to. Since the dawn of the melody, I’ve tried to live in the moment, pretending as though each one may have been my very last. However, it is only here, enduring my final moments, that I feel those words are understood. Upon reminiscing, the only emotion I possess is sorrow. Sorrow for the forgotten dreams and the unaddressed regrets. Sorrow for the youth that I feel is now wasted, which lacked the presence of my present wisdom. I tried to live a life that would allow me to face death with certainty, only to realize the effort to be aimless. The potentiality of slipping into an infinite void of unconsciousness is not of my concern, it is only the inevitable travesty that as my death grows near what lies behind me is a completed book written in the language of permanence. Life is not a game I asked to play, and on the cusp of death saying that to live is to die does not appear to be a needlessly pessimistic phrase. I could’ve read all the wise words the philosophers and poets have said since the dawn of humanity, but none of it would have prepared me for facing the abyssal plains of death that lie ahead, which forsake me from all that lies behind. I could have traveled to Thoreau’s woods, only to find that in doing so I surrendered the opportunity to traverse the stars. I could have lived deliberately, only to find I had not lived freely. I could have become the absurd hero, so aptly revered by Camus, only to find I had become a villain to my principle. I could have done a lot, but I did nothing. This melodic melancholy that is habitually termed life, something that begins and ends so unpredictably, is only beautiful because of all that lies in between. I just wish I had understood the melody before it was too late.
Ariadine Antonio ‘22
Beauty of Water and Green Leah Cawley ‘25
The Soul on a Hill Alex Call ‘23 A Soul bathed in brightness lies soft on a hill, It twiddles its thumbs—takes from Life what it will. It thinks about thinking, it dreams about dreaming. Briefly it wonders, Well, where is the meaning? The clouds? No, they rain. The sun? Far too bright. Perhaps it is all merely dark cosmic night: A force of indifference, a will of the No, Or maybe the Yes—if fate deems it be so. O’ Night, cruel old master! What game do you play, When Time in its hurry shall come but not stay? And if nothing is whither and nothing is whence Then why even bother to try and make sense? —Oh but see how the birds chirp, aperch in their nest! And mother and father hold child abreast, And flowers abloom in the thickets unfold Under the sunset like rivers of gold. If this is the nothing, is nothing so bad? Perhaps the Soul’s purpose is just to be glad: To witness the beauty that Life has in store And not to waste time vainly wishing for more.
But it’s sad, nay it’s mad—no, it’s glad! Just be glad! It tries but it cries and now everything dies. It sees all around it in steady decay, And weeps hollow breaths as it dreams of what may Be in the Will-be, the Was, or the Now: The love and the loss of what Life may allow, A dutiful reaper collecting his wages, A meadow of candlelight, lost to the ages. It fears and it frets, no! It steadies its breath— In out, up down, Beat beat, thump thump. It closes its eyes, rests a hand on its heart, Neither ready to end, nor ready to start
Juliana Bernal ‘25
Sisyphus Benjamin Mui ‘22 The snow drifts down slowly today A side effect of the winter chill Everything white as the moon at night But all without the glow It’s all just part of life’s challenges They roll soundly down at times Or crash suddenly to the bottom So it seems that the illusion of control Over the highs and the lows Is nothing more than Sisyphus’s eternal doom To roll the boulder of life high up the hill Only to have it fall before the top Yet somehow there is a meaning A heroic act to push day after day To raise a clenched fist to the absurdity That is living tomorrow’s today To view it all upon high Being able to realize both how far we’ve come And how far we’ve yet to go Given a choice to either leave the task undone Or with triumphant smiles March down the hill to begin again.
I’m beside myself; cloning machine works. Brandon Azhar ‘25
Too much time, but never enough. Kori Zacher ‘23
Don’t tell stories; live them out. Jonathan Lin ‘23
Didn't finish; I gave it up. Nathan Elias ‘22
Juliana Bernal ‘25
c’est la vie Juliana Bernal ‘25
Mark of the Titan Lord Jonathan Lin ‘23 Before the world came to know the likes of Earth and the "planets" that revolve around the sun, there existed the Arenos galaxy. A collection of gas, dust particles, and its stars, held together by gravity, forming a truly magnificent beauty of purple-blue beyond compare. In this galaxy, there existed three kingdoms that people called home: Tartarus, Kalos, and Olympus, standing powerfully over the land. Interconnected they were, life was ever prosperous. Independent, peaceful, and joyous as they were, these kingdoms were left unbothered for millennia. Although diverse and vastly different, they were one. Life blossomed and prospered for the lifeforms that inhabited such lands, each one unique in skill and spirit. Life was good, to say the least. Days were run on a day-to-day basis as weeks slowly passed them by. Their roles were theirs for the selection as civilians lived quite happily with the hustle and bustle of the day-to-day. However, one must not undermine the grandeur of such kingdoms, for each kingdom was protected by a powerful guardian warrior, each unique in spirit and strength. Under their supervision, guidance, and care, all was well. It seemed as if harm could not be done to this paradise.
…
That all took a turn one early, uninviting Sunday morning when the sounding of church bells, the soothing clash of metal from the blacksmith’s iron hammers, was blurred and swallowed by the clash of swords and the smokey, smoggy haze that began to arise from Kalos, one of the three beloved kingdoms. It was as if God’s power and protection had been put into question. It was as if one’s will had been put to the test. A dark, great, sinister evil had always existed somewhere off in the distance, unforgotten. An unforgettable secret in the hearts of the guardians, which they hid to protect those below. Battered down and beaten, tortured, and feared for his potential return, which would be unstoppable. Despite being imprisoned, this fiend managed to escape. A fiend discovered in the realms of myth. A fiend once captured, held no more. The peaceful world that was once known would be thrown into unyielding chaos once more.
Lamentations of an Older Sister Alex Wong ‘22 I wish to hold you Entirely so To protect you from their barbed words. But to embrace a cactus Leaves spines within my skin To comfort you would leave me More sorrowful as You use their thorns on me. Why do you hurt me so. I wonder if You realize because You are my smart little brother But sometimes you radiate A coldness that Never seems to go away.
Elizabeth Yang ‘23
Omnipotence Jonathan Lin ‘23
Still Life with Assorted Fruits Elaine Ma ‘22
The Clock Tower Kevin Liu ‘24 Christening Hundreds of years ago, maybe more a small village stood on the moor Its adults worked hard all day While its children laughed and played And it came tumbling down The houses were sculpted out of stone and sticks The chaos scorched the land, dried the grass The village hall: gleaming alabaster bricks It was like Abaddon: no one wanted to pass The outer walls, of earth pounded firm Blackened and twisted were the trees The main street, of cobblestone lined with ferns The sky mourned with a gentle breeze Sadly, something was missing, the elders all knew The town, too, deserted and empty They needed something to rally to In the dirt, skeletons aplenty “What should be built?” the elders asked Valiant defenders they were in life A clock tower, they decided, but no easy task Suddenly ceased with the stroke of a knife However, the people agreed without resistance The tower, how glorious it was And everyone came to the builders’ assistance The tower, how dead it is They worked in the day, with the sun on fire Years before, it shone with light They labored at night, below the moonlight spires Now, there is nothing but night Up went the bells, of burnished bronze The storm could not bash it to the ground Forged to perfection with a hammer and tongs When the floods came, it did not drown On the forty-ninth day, they rang loud and clear But age won during the final round The labor complete; the villagers cheered. And it all came tumbling down From that moment forth, the bells tolled each hour of the day The curtains were in tatters Tick tock, clang clang, what a wondrous display! Broken, were the wooden rafters Gone, was all the laughter When it all came tumbling down The bell tolled one last time as it shattered against the stones After it all came tumbling down
Ruins A hill in the distance, topped with weathered rock On the side there was a mangled clock Tick tock, tick tock The mockingbird mocked The wood had long since faded to dust The iron was red from rust Bronze bells: dented and crushed Through the devastated sight, the wind rushed The village had lived through a time of prosperity But it had now faded into obscurity In the history books, it was nonexistent Various sources were inconsistent Then, the storm attacked again, its blades much stronger The rains fell, harder and harder Soon, the village ruins were swept away by flood And the clock tower was there no longer When the water subsided, ruins scattered the plain Debris lay all around, washed clean by the rain Of the clock tower, only one thing remained The bells, a monument to those who were slain They lay in the mud, forgotten by time Oh, the poor bells that no longer chime
Spectral Ball On one night of the year, a ghostly tower rises in all its glory When described, it seems almost hallucinatory But its not fake, its real Some say they can even hear the mysterious bells peal When the clock strikes twelve, the spirits start their dance To melodies that can put one in a trance The music tells of brave heroes, strong and true Of fair maidens, and daydreaming little boys too Faster and faster, the ghosts spin in their waltz They dance without rest, as if they are enthralled Their shimmering gowns and ivory suits twirl The moonlight glints off their pearls Be cautious, however, of joining the revelry Because, once one goes, they can never leave They will too be trapped in the ball Reduced to something less than mortal Ultimately, the sun rises over the peaks The shimmering phantom of the tower grows weak For a moment, the bells clang again, echoing across the valley Then, it disappears again into mystery. How beautiful and loud the bells were when they rang How faint are the echos as they fade away.
The Plague Jennifer Dick-Peddie ‘24
Dark Abyss Nathan Elias ‘22 A few weeks ago, I caught A vision of my own Death. Everyone was dressed in Black, black gowns with Black caps, Bodies falling through the rye, Though I couldn’t see through– To what. I nearly fell into the dark abyss As I stared ahead into the Cloaked figure seated In front of me, As the reaper’s voice boomed overhead, Croaking the names of the deceased one by one, In alphabetical order by last name Now the clock is ticking until I meet that moment, For real this time– Unsure of whether to welcome it, Or do everything I can to stop it; Unsure of whether I woke up from a dream, Or went back to sleep.
Moderator Mr. Kevin Brazelton
Proofreader Mrs. Janelle Kroenung
Administrator Mr. Keith Mathews
Editors Luna Anderson Ariadine Antonio Jules Banucci Elizabeth Joseph Guhan Karthik Enya Liu Arnav Mishra Stella Park Arielle Rizal Sara Simoni Chelsea Soriano Ria Sudhir Alinna Villaroman Kori Zacher
Archbishop Mitty High School Literary Magazine
Mission Statement Thanks for reading this issue of The Muse: The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine is
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produced by students of Archbishop Mitty.
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The purpose of this magazine is to support
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