Fifty When on the edge of the abyss they stand, the wild beating drums inside beat on relentless, chased from thresholds by the hand imprisoning the harmless, fading gun; They plunge down deep into the waiting gulf, consumed by hopes of hailing hopeful lights; To looming ends scurries the growing pulse propelled by trained, intrinsic matchèd flight. A wall, emerged, obstructs the studied path— With nowhere left but the forsaken course, despair abuses undervalued breath but expectations do conclusion force. Unbending will attacks the final wall; triumphant sprinters, pleased, rejoice the call. Gabriella Lamm ’13
38 Pillars of Salt