Inspired Minds Volume 3 by InspiredMinds

The Patriot: Inspired Minds Literary & Arts Feature Volume III

Fall 2020

Mission Statement Through The Patriot: Inspired Minds Literary & Arts Feature, we hope to enlighten the community to the endless capabilities of the minds roaming the UT Tyler campus of today and of tomorrow. This magazine connects each individual voice to that of its brothers and sisters in the arts. It boldly states, “We Are Here and no longer will we hide in the shadows.” Join us as we cast the light on writers, artists, playwrights, musicians, and many more. Here to illuminate your work.

Dear Readers, From its fruition, The Patriot: Inspired Minds Literary & Arts Feature has sought to share and illuminate the works of all UT Tyler’s Inspired Minds. Now more than ever, the creative works of these Inspired Minds continue to propel us forward. This year has been one like no other, and though it has been challenging and things have often not gone as planned, we hope that the works featured in this volume will inspire and fuel you as much as they have for us. To our contributors who have shared their work with us and continue to do so your inspiration during this time has been a light to us all, and we would not be here without you. May you all continue to remain inspired. Here to illuminate your work, The Inspired Minds Staff

Letter from the Editor To all Inspired Minds, I want to tell you a little bit about how this Literary & Arts magazine came into existence. I transferred to UT Tyler from TJC in the fall of 2018 and started working as the copy editor for the UT Tyler campus newspaper (I had also previously been the news editor for TJC’s campus newspaper). Being an editor was what I always wanted to do, and I was lucky enough to find the position open, and even luckier that they would have me. Incredibly enough, Lorri Allen, the advisor at the time, asked me if I wanted to start up an arts magazine of sorts on campus after seeing my publications in TJC’s Bell Tower Arts Journal. Of course, I said yes right away! I was so excited to foster this incredible idea, hoping I could make it into something amazing before my time at UT Tyler was over. So, I took this idea to our magazine editor at the time, Megan Byrd, and together we created The Patriot: Inspired Minds Literary & Arts Feature. For our first publication, there were many nights we stayed on campus until 2AM, trying to get this magazine together, because we wanted to create a place on campus where students, faculty, and staff could express their creativity freely. So, after many long nights and many frustrating back-and-forths with printers, the first issue was released. The feeling was incredible! Seeing copies all over campus, seeing those who’d submitted works share it with others, it was worth every bit of struggle. And now we are releasing our third issue in the fall of 2020, a year where we all faced immeasurable struggles due to the COVID-19 pandemic and tumultuous political climate. I can only hope that when you read this issue of our magazine it will allow you to relax, and most of all, get creative. My time at UT Tyler is coming to an end, but I have all the confidence that Inspired Minds’ new chief editor, Autumn VanBuskirk, will help this magazine flourish. I look forward to seeing

more issues of the Inspired Minds Literary & Arts Feature, and continuing to see all the incredible works put in it. Here to illuminate your work,

Irene Campos Inspired Minds, Chief Editor

Table of Contents Altitude - Mark A. Howard

At Night - Lee April Schall

Broken Earth / Broken Anew - Mark A. Howard

The Cave - Kimberly Lopez

Covid: A Revelation and Blessing in Disguise - Bria (Morris) McCrory

Darren Aronofsky (Death and Sudoku) - Mark A. Howard 16 The Discus - William Willette IV

Don’t You Mind? - Aimie McAllester

Excerpt - Anonymous

Fourth of July - Aimie McAllester

Hey, I Hate You - Karla Padilla

Ink - Lee April Schall

A Lone Swan - Anjit Aryal

A Man I Knew - Darby Mayfield

Moments - Anonymous

The Moon - Aimie McAllester

Moon - Macayla Bryant

Mowed Down in the Morrow - William Willette IV

My Dear America - Kimberly Lopez

On Faith - Anonymous

On the Calamity of Truth in a Bad World - Anonymous

Plucked - William Willette IV

Shadow of the Elasyene House - Anjit Aryal

Shattered - Anonymous

The Sock - Lee April Schall

Somber Memories - Macayla Bryant

Something Like That - Megan Byrd

Space - Kimberly Lopez

Stars - Anonymous

Time We Share - Anjit Aryal

To the Girl Who Became Wind - Karla Padilla

The Weather App - Anonymous

Wizard Clown Baby - Macayla Bryant

Your Soul in Summer Breeze - Karla Padilla

You’re My Hope - Anonymous

The Patriot: Inspired Minds Volume 3, Fall 2020

Chief Editor Irene Campos Associate Editor Autumn VanBuskirk Social Media Manager Veronica Wheat

Contact Us For general inquiries, email tpiminspiredminds@gmail.com For submissions, email tpimsubmissions@gmail.com Visit our website: patriotinspiredminds.com Connect with us on social media: Instagram - uttyler_inspiredminds Twitter - UTT_PIM

Altitude By Mark A. Howard Flying is not my least favorite activity; it’s just not my preferred one. To me, flying is the equivalent, of having your balls smashed with a sharp rock every thirty seconds for an hour and a half. Technically, It’s doable...just not preferred. Especially when the ability to sleep escapes you as They turn on the “sun” when the night finally takes over. Nevertheless, we find ourselves, overlooking the Earth as a field of Blue, and staring at the ocean in a way that I have never seen the ocean before: screaming through the air at 40,000 feet, 540 miles per hour, -54° Fahrenheit, with hours still to go, All I can see is a field of Blue, being carved away by a sky of Black. and I wonder to yourself: why I have never really seen a star before? Granted, I have seen a star, but in a way that you never will. No pollution. No disruption. Just man catapulting across Heavens we could never touch before. That is, until we land, just to get back on the plane, to finish out the journey, but we can all rest easy, knowing I’ll see it again.

At Night By Lee April Schall Darkness wrapped around her The dim light of the dashboard glowing As the music shook the car Lonely vocals stumbling into the night Eyes closed and head back A tidal wave of today Crashing out in serenity As a single tear falls to gravity Build up anguish Quivering at the edge The struggles of this race Slipping away into the base

Broken Earth / Breath Anew By Mark A. Howard There’s a hole in my floor now with an unfamiliar shape. Not unlike the footsteps imprinted in the hardwood by years of dust, sweat, and dead skin, There’s just this hole now that pulls at the center. It’s dug deep in the foundation, like chisel to stone, peeling at layers before it taps soil. There’s fresh earth now, breathing old air and burying tired bones Now, worms crawl free with beetles and mice into bloody roots and septic lines that form a severed central nerve. There’s nothing left until they tap hot fire and the core spills up. Once more, the hole is filled with haphazard patchwork and carefree resolve, as the shape burns all the way back down. There’s footsteps around it, marking divisions between broken earth and breath anew.

The Cave By Kimberly Lopez A dark, hollow cave was planted deep in the woods, just minutes from his backyard. Elliot, a young boy, considered this cave to be special. No one was allowed access, except for his father. Not even his baby brother, Thomas. Elliot's mother would always tell stories about seeing fairies in the woods when she was younger, hoping to change his mind about the cave, but he felt her stories would drag on. He had enough of hearing his mother talk about trees and little people, but he stood there respectfully either way, listening until she was cut off by his father's voice. Elliot's eyes lit up when he appeared. His father continued walking towards the heart of the woods, and the little boy made sure to follow every foot step. His father chuckled. “Shhhh,” he whispered. His mother warned them about this cave, but like father, like son - both so stubborn. They heard the mother’s yells until they reached silence. Elliot was far from home, but he felt safe. After all, his mother would remind him that his father was a superhero, working to save everybody in America, which would explain why he had to be gone most days. He was on a mission, as Elliot called it. Once they had reached the cave, Elliot was in awe. The sunlight would reflect off the small pond inside, creating a show of colors. It was nice, quiet, and perfect. “What do you say we call this our place?” his father asked. The little boy nodded, “YESSS!” Elliot was excited to hold such a place with great meaning. Every time his father would disappear, he would visit the cave. He would take little toy boats with him and play in the small pond. It became his perfect getaway for when things got worse. So much worse. He was only eight when his father passed. His mother told him they shot down his father's ship and that there was no way for him to escape as it slowly sank, but he still remains a hero. After his father's death, Elliot struggled to keep a smile that lasted more than five minutes. He was no longer the sweet little boy that cheered everyone one up with his snarky humor. His mother made an effort everyday to make her son feel better, but nothing seemed to work. She would even suggest taking a trip down to the cave every once in a while, but Elliot refused, constantly reminding her that she was not welcome.

Every morning, Elliot traveled deep into the woods to visit the cave, except his visits were no longer to play with his toy boats, but to cry and scream while kicking rocks. He became angry with the world and cursed the air for killing his father. He would tremble in the cold, and melt in the heat — all to just feel closer to his father. The little boy missed him deeply. His mother stayed home, following his shadow from the window until he would disappear. Seeing him run off by himself, scared her. What if she loses her son as well? A loud pop disrupts her train of thought and she walks into the kitchen to take the popcorn out of the microwave. Her youngest son, completely unaware of the current situation, runs towards her excitedly screaming, “POPCORN! POPCORN!” She smiles with the muscles she has left and hands him the bowl of popcorn. Just like Elliot, she felt a dark cloud of depression grow inside her. After putting Thomas to bed for his nap, she notices the sunset forming. Usually, Elliot is already home by this time. She frantically runs out, grabbing a sweater on her way. She continues to run through the woods, but stops when she hears a soft cry. “Elliot! Darling, is that you?” she screamed. No answer. She began to grow worried. Where could he be?! Is he okay?! The sky slowly began its transition into darkness, but all was still visible to the mother. Hints of dark orange and pink were still holding their beauty as she ventured deeper into the woods. Birds would fly about, almost scolding her from time to time. Meanwhile the scream of the waves from a distance broke her attention, causing her to jump. Suddenly, she heard a twig snap. She slowly turned around and noticed the little boy: muddy and heartbroken. “He promised,” Elliot whispered with tears falling on his cold, pale face. She knelt down and hugged her son. “I miss him too,” she said. In that moment, they felt peace, which was something they hadn't felt in a long time. Elliot was the first to escape her embrace, but continued holding her hand. He was leading her to his safe haven. They continued walking until they reached the end. The cave. The pond had floating candles with flower petals spread out, and up on a rock was a photograph of his father in his uniform. Next to the brightest candle, was his biggest hero.

Someone who he'll never forget. His mother instantly broke down with tears, but this time she had a smile on her face, for she knew now how much this place meant to her son.

Covid: A Revelation and Blessing in Disguise By Bria (Morris) McCrory “Covid,” a Revelation and Blessing in Disguise Canceled parties, school, flights, weddings, concerts, sports, and holidays...this is enough to make someone go crazy. But did it? Did it make me go crazy? Did it make me lose my mind? “Covid” allowed me to stay home and stress less Preparing to take my teacher’s exam while working as a first-year teacher in Houston, Texas. It was hard, exhausting, and stressful. I remember my advisor from UT Tyler explaining to me in their office it’ll be difficult trying to become an educator outside of an education program. I did not allow anyone’s words to discourage me from what I want to accomplish in life. So, I took the bull by the horn and worked hard everyday for my 7th grade students. During our spring break, my husband and I were in Pensacola, Florida, soaking up the sun and enjoying a much needed break until I received a notification from my middle school stating that Texas is being shut down. Which meant our schools would be shut down. Which also meant that I would not get to see my kiddos face-to-face again until further notice. As the state kept pushing the days further and further back, it came to the conclusion that my students would not get to have a traditional end to their 7th grade year. Despite me not seeing my colleagues and students, my teacher’s certification exam date got extended, which meant I got to spend more time preparing in the comfort of my home. After taking the exam and passing with excellence, I was able to extend my career opportunities in another district. “Covid” allowed more time for US I wanted more time for my husband and I to grow closer and stronger in our relationship and faith. After being at home from March to August, we were able to do just that. We successfully planned and made our wedding work under the circumstances. It was the wedding of my dreams. Our team of professionals worked extremely hard and served our guests beyond expectations. We were blessed with magazine and online opportunities in the Houston Voyage and Bumble’s dating application to share our

story. We have a podcast titled “This is...US” that streams on all major podcast platforms such as Apple Podcast, Google Podcast, and Spotify. On our episodes, we tackle controversial topics from being an interracial and interabled couple to having everyday conversations with submitted guests. We had plans to attend an Elton John Farewell concert in Houston, as well as fly to New York City. Both got cancelled, but since we were not able to travel like we wanted to, we were able to budget, save money, and move to a beautiful suburban neighborhood away from Houston where we could establish and grow our family when that time came. We knew we wanted to move away from the city, but it came sooner than expected. “Covid” allowed our church and ministry to reach out to more souls Everyone utilized live stream on Facebook before Covid every now and then, but it became more prevalent after March. Live streaming our praise and worship along with our sermon on Thursdays and Sundays allowed us to reach people across the country to bring people to God. When we held our services outside in the parking lots, people would walk up and sit on the curbs pouring their hearts out to Jesus. When we gradually moved back inside the building, we continued to live stream for the families that did not feel safe enough to come back inside with us. Regardless, we still reached thousands. So, did “Covid” make me go crazy? No! Put “Covid” in parentheses because “Covid” did not and does not have control over my mindset nor did it provide blessings in my life. Yes, it is real. My husband and I both contracted it in June, but we recovered. My husband has a compromised immune system, and I was extremely worried and concerned about his recovery, but God was and has been by our side and provided our blessings. We made it through together, and our immune systems are stronger than ever. To live in today’s world, you must have a growth mindset. A mindset that does not allow fear to take over what is important in your life. A mindset that will pull you closer to family and friends. A mindset that will overcome any and everything before something happens.

Darren Aronofsky (Death and Sudoku) By Mark A. Howard Recovering from the drilling of numbers in my mind as I struggle to find the answer to the Sudoku puzzle I’ve worked, and reworked into perpetuity while they check my vitals, and ask for a recital of the standard: blood type, name, and age. As I turn another page, they turn me on my side and inevitably give up as they pull me on a gurney, pull up a crash cart, and...wait, what part did I stop at? The upper left? No...no, the bottom right corner and the bottom right cheek is where I feel an accumulation of liquids and something else soon to be as they clear and calm me and the rest observing the horror. As I’m trying to place the six where the nine once was and, ironically, find that we are both back at one and steadily dropping to none. I want to tear out the page and restart both the puzzle and myself, but apparently my number is up. The pen’s out of ink. And we are all out of juice.

The Discus By William Willette IV I was paralyzed, when I woke. I went to speak, but was silent as an oak. Creatures formed, from the shadows they did. If I could, I would have hid. They had bulbous heads, and big onyx eyes. Slender demons, the devil’s spies. Dark, and cold, and hellish too. If I could, I would have flew. They phased me out my house, through the roof I did slip. A light carried me into a discus shaped ship. Where did they take me? What did they do? I was back in bed, the next thing I knew. Even though it didn’t seem, I tell myself it was a dream. Yet, I can’t help remembering, how they silenced every scream. I was trapped, frozen, and there was fear I could feel. I’m afraid this horror, might have been real.

Don’t You Mind? By Aimie McAllester To have a mind like a car crash Foot on the pedal, fast-forward motion Teetering on the edge of disaster Waiting for the final blip that takes you off the road To have a mind like tangled wires Waiting for a schizz-crackle snap Of the electricity running through But it never comes The wires never turn on But you know this, don’t you? To have a mind like this Shutter-stop and kiss Makes you almost wish When you weren’t like this

Excerpt By Anonymous “See, X, the problem which you now navigate is central to the human drama, and your answer to it is of extraordinary existential significance. Since mankind’s induction into the cosmos, they have been keenly aware of their existential predicament: mankind’s virtue, the virtue of thought, permits them to see their destiny, to know the future. But they have seen that it is dark and malignant: they know their fate, which is to die; they know their curse, which is to be forgotten by time and dismantled by the universe which gave rise to them. Mankind’s nobility, therefore, is in knowing their demise; their great achievement is in seeing the forces which conspire to destroy them. But their understanding is to no avail: they see death approach but can do nothing; they know their fate, but are too weak to prevail against it. While all the other perils of existence are subject to defeat, death is impervious to mankind’s efforts. Since the conception of time and the birth of the universe, death stands victorious, for none have yet managed the aptitude necessary to resist it. “What a calamity, therefore, is mankind, what a contradictory and insidious terror. Does not their being condemn itself? Is not the inevitability of death grafted into the fundamental structure of life? Is not the life which you have crafted so dutifully by your goals, ambitions, and values and the experiences you adore temporal by nature? Is not the integrity of the mind too weak to contend against the turning of the ages? How can mankind face such an impossible opponent as death? Is not existence, therefore, the heaviest burden of all? Does it not break bones? “But such knowledge is too heavy, for mankind cannot live as though they are nothing: life is a demanding condition and, therefore, requires the assistance of actions. Actions are purposed phenomena undertaken for the benefit of the actor. But purpose is impossible to that which does not matter: to act, one must believe that the process which they are extending--the process which is their life--is significant and worthy, in some profound existential sense, of extension, maintenance, and continuation. The act of living is, therefore, a metaphysical

commitment, an affirmation of one’s entitlement to exist. So, how does one carry such a weight? How does mankind heave the world from its primordial foundations? In response to the great burden of existence, mankind has identified two ways of escape: they discovered the impossible and have, by the evidence of their existence, managed to rectify their existential predicament with their desire to live. These two paths which mankind has designed to manage the chaos and anxiety of existence are ignorance and religion. “Ignorance is ignoble and wretched: it is the act of blinding oneself to the terrors of being and rejecting the human faculty, which is to know. By refusing the burden of thought, those who evade the reality of their condition exchange their mind for the ability to live. But, in avoiding the dread of existence, they reject their fundamental virtue and refute Being inasmuch as death. “Religion is the most direct response to mankind’s existential predicament and is, therefore, of great appeal: death promises non-existence, religion offers eternity; death erases experience, religion secures the mind; death appraises mankind as insignificant, but religion esteems their efforts as having objective and, moreover, metaphysical value. I tell you truly that the success of my efforts, as the plague of existence, would be impossible if only there was the smallest possibility that religion were true. Therefore, your hope lies, not in uncovering the physiological constituents of meaning or in ascertaining the biochemical constitution of happiness, but in cosmology and introspection: for by tracing the cosmos and investigating the mind, one comes to God.” “I don’t know why, but you’re wrong,” X replied. “It’s somehow more beautiful this way.”

Fourth of July By Aimie McAllester There is smoke in the dark again, smell of gunpowder And fresh taint of beer Fireworks or firearms? Wish I could disappear from the men with wild in their eyes and fear in their heart

Hey, I Hate You By Karla Padilla I I You Then

think two years was not long enough was so proud and you were so tough said you were happy that we had grown you told me you had cancer of the bone You wanted me to stay so far away But everyday without you became very grey So I stayed around for those last four months And our love never wavered, not even once But when you were gone There was nothing I could do So hey there cancer, I Hate You.

Ink By Lee April Schall I’m plucking at my demons But they fester deeper within I draw them out with the move of my pen Their despair is my ink Line after line I spill my sins The darkness inside Seeping through my skin

A Lone Swan By Anjit Aryal Beneath the moon A swan floats lonely over a lake Eyes staring into that endless night It is As a whiff of breathe As a color of smile As a tickle of rain Light and light It fades Remains but a hazy vision Something burns in the distance Smoke envelops the lake The swan vanishes into the smoke Drifting away into the air It loses its being A new sun rises over the horizon The lake stays alone With the rustle of leaves and a melody of storm

A Man I Knew By Darby Mayfield A man I knew, a little older than me, died recently. Within the past year, he had a series of strokes that, in the end, took his life. We lived in different cities and weren’t great friends and didn’t spend a lot of time together. He was narrow-minded, conservative and seemed too focused on money for my taste. When his mother-in-law died, he maneuvered his in-laws out of property that should have been divided between them. I guess they can blame themselves for that. Years ago he complained to me that his father-in-law had never given him anything. It struck me for some reason and on a later visit I took him a small flashlight. He was delighted and grateful and mentioned how he liked it when I saw him for years afterward. The last Christmas he was alive, he drew my name for family gift giving and gave me a pocket knife that cost much more than the dollar limit that was set. When I thanked him, he thanked me for his gift and he thanked me again for the flashlight I had given him years before. After he passed away, my wife and I were at his house, and I distinctly felt his benevolent presence. I had never before experienced the feeling and don’t know if others there had the same experience and no one mentioned it. I don’t practice religion and don’t understand why it happened but I still feel his presence.

Moments By Anonymous There are moments when The world shuts off and We can be completely And utterly ourselves. These moments are raw And vulnerable and they Make us who we are. Even if they hurt. They always hurt.

The Moon By Aimie McAllester Night pearl, how the world hurled you by its fingers, you whirled away sheltered from the gaze of the sun to be seen is to be undone Colorless in a world of color You hover over us and we worship at your feet

Moon By Macayla Bryant

Mowed Down in the Morrow By William Willette IV Grass grows, and man mows it down. Blades chop, and the smell seeps aroun’. Man grows, then comes the scythe. I don’t care if he’s rich, or rife. He’ll always ever lose the life. But some might look at me and say: “Please oh please don’t take me away!” Blades chop, and the smell seeps around. There goes the body, into the ground. When man mows the lawn, he says it’s splendid. Yet he feels bad at the thought of his life ended. Why oh why? I don’t know why they cry. I think it’s a particularly good thing when they die. And why do they call me the grim reaper, eh? I always ever smile, when I slay. And when I’m done with the chore I say: “Ah, how good and splendid,” “It’s a great thing for the lawn to be tended.”

My Dear America By Kimberly Lopez I look around with sparkled eyes. Here is where the red, white, and blue lies. I walk freely while others offer a fake grin. My presence is a continuous sin. My kind are tormented for finding a new life. We are simply spoons being threatened by a single knife. History has been made; let not our country reverse, Or else words and actions would make matters worse. The skins of difference, we are. Natural born from afar. Together we fight as one. No more shaming shall be done. I will not hide nor change, Only because my appearance looks strange. We as humans should stick tight as a braid, Living at peace as one shade.

On Faith By Anonymous Note from the author: this piece is intended to articulate a philosophical perspective and is not meant as a critique of religion itself. I dare not critique the divine’s final plot For the great design is unknown to the pot But, though debate be a vain temptation I dare postulate my organized lamentation: Perhaps not too, but it is hard to believe And walk towards a reality we cannot perceive I begin my lamentation with my sub-point A: I find it difficult to accept the things that you say For though our world is one both beginning and tuned My heart desires that thy word would be pruned: For I know not why blending fabrics was wrong Or why Matthew’s burial account contradicts John And how can I trust the unpleasant proclamation That woman, being second, deserves subjugation? How are we convicted when built with sinful lust? Is not substitutionary punishment essentially unjust? And why did thou deal, not with thy children in unison But instead spoke only to and near Jerusalem? But A is a herring, for our inditement is B: I know not why you are silent, despite our pleas For do not even your faithful feel secretly alone? Are we not full of pretense and nourished by stone? While a twenty-century break might aid your plan We too yearn only to hold your punctured hand It astonishes me: that after seventy generations Of unanswered prayers and unfilled expectations Of mountains unyielding and blindness unrelieved We still beg for the strength to believe I wonder then: is not your way too straight If even those who beg cannot be saved? Finally, C: I wonder why you gave us the light When we are too weak to bear the burden of sight: You built us to think that which we think is true But this divine image has led us away from you

While I prefer that I should live blind and be saved Man was born outside their allegorical cave You know: we try to trick ourselves to believe As reason bears truth and truth bears grief Did not you say to forfeit my eye and my hand And remove whatsoever should hinder thy holy plan? Must I then cast out my mind to follow your way And walk by blindness and delusion to be saved? But maybe it’s better this way And maybe you’re better than the alternative

On the Calamity of Truth in a Bad World By Anonymous Sometimes we think true things And see fate devise its unholy schemes: I lament the knowledge which we have known For though we beg for bread, we are given stone: We love life, though our bodies were built weak And we fight to make memories we cannot keep Maybe hope knows only acts one through three And joy is near-sighted, blind to the end we see Tarantulas chatter that Mephistophelean decree: “Given what we are, it is better not to be” If this world is broken, truth is the antagonist Meant, not for the brave, but the masochist For the bold perish when the dragon uncurls And enlightened souls burn in a bad world But not so--for we have heard the songs of nature And felt a strange hope, an aesthetic crusader We hold it close with desperate affection And whisper softly the same confession: “I love you. Thank you for this beautiful world And thank you for my beautiful life”

Plucked By William Willette IV As bugs fought little battles on the gritty soil below, the flowers watched attentively, eagerly making bets on the possible tiny victors. However, the flowers soon lost focus on the insects and their quarrels, when a fellow sunflower was abruptly dismembered by a massive creature, with horrifyingly speedy limbs. It had clutched the poor plant using its fearsome knuckles and fingers, then tore the shocked victim from its warm stem, cutting the sunflower from its lower parts, and away from its friendly home. The patch of flowers mourned and cried for the defenseless sunflower, yet their tears appeared as dew. Meanwhile, a deadly and dreadful face smiled at the sight of it all, as it cherished that which it had done. Unashamed, the figure then handed its prey, the poor dying flower, to another like itself, and then an extra cruel smile erupted. A young tulip, after some time had passed and the insanely quick beings had left, broke the mournful silence. It said, “I heard from a couple of venturing bees that those beasts apply the same sort of practice unto the ancient trees.” Though, no one seemed to hear, as many of the flowers were still focused on the oozing that now poured from their old friend, stunned. Fear had infested that flower patch, and those little flowers that inhabited it would never be as joyful or happy as they once were. Eventually, the flowers could not help but dread the day their turn may come, to be plucked.

Shadow of the Elasyene House Window By Anjit Aryal Ravaged in the fire the letters of yours that I could not keep Floats by me as ashes like transient dreams What is it that I seek now that you are gone? What is it that I need to fill this hollow inside me? Do I float away like this smoke that tears my eyes? Will I reach you then? Or, will I wander like a ghost without rest? I often wonder it these days, do time turns for the dead. I wish it didn’t but who’s to tell You know, I have grown silent these days Passing away in memories Not yours always Some are older, even older than me But maybe they are dreams I do not know the difference anymore There are times though when I am drawn back to present Like last Tuesday, Venessa had a child It had been such a ruckus for days But everyone’s used to now, almost You would have liked her She is so much like Venessa on a winter day It’s easy to remember those winter Those Thanksgiving and Christmas days Before the war came knocking on our door Before it took you away from me Forgive me, if it would not stop for you Goodbye for now.

Shattered By Anonymous Being shattered Consumed everything That I was, That I ever dreamed Of becoming. Until I realized Being shattered Meant that I could Put those pieces Back into Anything and Everything I ever dreamed of.

The Sock By Lee April Schall Every time is the same A vicious cycle Where you can get lost But barely ever found Torn apart From your perfect match To be tossed around While the other gets lost And then comes the matching Over and over I’m so close to getting picked But in the end, it’s only a gist No partner again Still lost at sea To be returned to the cycle I’m the hope to find thee This is a world Where many get lost New arrivals come As we beat another lap around the drum

Somber Memories By Macayla Bryant

Something Like That By Megan Byrd I dragged my gaze across the page and swallowed the lump in my throat. Cancer...a disease in which the abnormal rapid division of cells can— “Miracles can happen!” Sydney whined, her tiny hand pulling at my coat. Our boots crunched in the snow and warm puffs floated and faded from her mouth in an otherwise time-stopped suburb, blissfully silent if not for my sister’s indignance. She demanded attention in her hot pink puffer jacket and stream of chatter, even from the neighbors’ snowmen. I pulled my nose out of my textbook to look down with a sigh. “Sydney, please. I gotta study.” The bags under my eyes were large enough to carry the stack of medical journals in my backpack, but all nighters and exams meant nothing to a five year old. Her lip jutted out, a familiar sheen of stubbornness puffing with her pink cheeks. “But look!” She swung her arms wide, gesturing to the snow and the slate grey sky. “This is proof! We haven’t got snow since Great Granny Lola went to heaven. And it snowed on my birthday! Isn’t that a miracle?” “Sure, Sydney.” I buried my nose further in my book. Okay, so the nerves in the spine were— “You’re just saying that.” “Uh-huh.” “Are you listening?” “Fascinating.” “Erriikk!” she called, tugging on my arm until I nearly dropped my book. Exasperated, I adjusted her hat further over her ears, golden curls rebelling from the knit. She was too young. She didn’t understand why I had to study. Why I had to pass my exams. Why I had to become a doctor. “If you stay quiet until we get to the bus stop, I’ll buy you a cookie.” “Cookies!” I gave her a look and she clapped her hands over her mouth with a giggle. And it was quiet...for the next five seconds. “Hey Erik?” She grabbed for my hand and I gave in, tucking my book under my arm to envelop her gloved hand in mine. “Why don’t you believe in miracles?” I shrugged and yawned. “Don’t want to get my hopes up on something like that. Something so unreliable.” Sydney was so small and full of life, with shining blue eyes and short legs bouncing with every step. But I’d seen times when she wasn’t so healthy and energetic. Times when her tiny

self lay in a hospital bed with tubes and machines, eyes closed, skin pale, so close to— A chill ran down my spine and I pressed my book closer to my side like a shield. No. I wouldn’t let that happen. Sydney offered plenty of distraction all the way to the bus station, asking ‘why is snow so cold?’ and ‘where do thoughts come from?’ along with the occasional snowball. She squealed at my return fire, her laughter contagious, and dark memories melted away like snowflakes. I gently herded her to our destination, and finally, we approached a waiting grey bus, its engine rumbling softly. “Okay, up we go.” I helped her climb the stairs and nodded to the old driver. Inside, warm air washed over us, the bus empty save for an old lady napping in the back. Sydney rushed to the nearest plush chair and hopped by the window, bouncing up and down excitedly. I couldn’t help but smile as I shed my coat and stowed my backpack away. After I settled next to her, I opened my book once more. The bus hissed and jerked forward before rolling smoothly down the plowed black road, and Sydney ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the passing scenery. We had a long ride to Grandpa’s house for her birthday party, so at least she was entertained for now. A little while passed and I pulled a thermos out of my backpack. “Hey, Sydney, want something to drink? Sydney?” Silence. My heart clenched and I whipped my attention to her. Soft snores escaped her peaceful face as she lay curled against the armrest. I breathed out in relief and laughed, laying my coat over her. Maybe she was right. “Miracles do happen after all.”

Space By Kimberly Lopez From the same universe are you and I. The bond is like no other to forget. You are my flesh and my wandering eye. Let our star signs dance their rhythmic duet. Our blood navigates every solar space, Connected by an incandescent star Not a single planet can take your place. Greater than the galaxy, our hearts are. Infinity and beyond, we do so. Traveling constellations widely spread. Time will age us, but our love will still glow. Losing your compassion is what I dread. I pray to the stars to keep you close by, Before the blackhole makes you want to fly.

Stars By Anonymous You gaze down from your perch in the heavens Onto a world you can only view through darkness. Constantly watching As the seasons of Earth rise and diminish. You’ve witnessed the depth of human destruction And the pinnacle of mortal accomplishments. Silently watching, Waiting for the next turn.

Time We Share By Anjit Aryal We stand beside each other Looking ahead, listening attentively I hope you also like the flow of those words A question I turn I stare at you. You look at me My heart leaps up I wish to not turn back But... Thoughts wander around Time passes. You prepare to leave I wish you would stay longer Please do not leave I turn You are not there anymore. I stay, a little longer. I turn around and walk on Maybe next, I wonder But time is ticking away Faster and faster It will soon be the end Will I ever...

To the Girl Who Became Wind By Karla Padilla I wrote a poem about us About our life when it got rough I made them think it was fiction though That those two people were just for show No one knows it was you and me And that our love was real to a certain degree Two years have passed and that’s not enough I still miss you and I haven’t been tough You said you would come back as wind So the breeze would be full with messages you’d send So I’ll sit on our tree perched like a bird And patiently wait for your word

The Weather App By Anonymous I’m here. You’re there. There’s not much I can do From over here Except watch the weather Showing thunderstorms passing over you, Watching as if my worrying Could protect you from the storms.

Wizard Clown Baby By Macayla Bryant

Your Soul in Summer Breeze By Karla Padilla As I sit atop this tree I often wonder where we would be I see the water down below And remember we swam from undertow I lay in the field surrounded by flowers While thoughts of you come in showers The day you left is coming near So I’ll stand here on the pier And as I look out and see the trees I feel your soul in this summer breeze

You’re My Hope By Anonymous Your baselines and verses Break open the piece Of me I buried away with hope and dreams that I am worth the thumping Beneath my chest. The brilliance of you Soars higher than any Airplane could reach. Always, you look on The blue side of the moon No matter the falter of peace around you. You give my world hope.