THE The
tiny candle
LITTLE BUBBLES
burned slowly,
a piece of blackening twine imprisoned by a swirling green mass, disappearing calmly into a wavering golden something of energy, creating warmth as the wax became a clear, green bubble boiling with littler bubbles, struggling, fighting to be released of a
future of nonexistence, a storm within the quiet resignation to fate,
refusing to accept the decisiveness of their destination,
but unable to conquer. martha moretz
carl
swafford
But what about yesterday?
And
last
night?
Didn't you
Any
of
mean
it?
it?
Then why couldn't
And
feel
I
see through?
the truth?
Another innocent blindly smashed into the Not knowing it was erected months before.
wall.
arlene potter
38
