Starry Night by Tim

He put only a small number of effects in his satchel; a few personal items that he wished to have with him when it came. As he drew the string closed and draped the cloth cover over the top, he took one last look at what had been his room for the past 15 years and let out a tiny sigh. Not allowing himself to be dissuaded, though, he forcibly turned his glance away and headed for the door. Withdrawing his light cloak from its place on the peg by the back door, he quietly turned the doorknob to leave his home. As the door creaked open the tiniest bit, the sound of crickets chirping could be heard. Nick stepped out into the brisk, overcast night and drew his cloak tighter around him; his need for creature comfort had not been sacrificed yet. He began to navigate the streets and fences from his backyard to the field that lay beyond the small neighborhood in which he lived. As he walked, he began to contemplate the task that was before him. A task? He laughed to himself. It was only one last challenge to be accomplished in a life that had undergone far too many. The mere thought of his mistreatment throughout his life put the familiar scowl on his face again. He had always supposed that he would feel remorseful or regretful about his life if he ever chose to end it, but now that the finality of it all laid only a few minutes ahead, he felt only anger. Anger and pain, the two recurring and unremitting elements of his life. It seemed as if there was nothing else to existence than these two elements for Nick. He pushed these thoughts out of his head and took a quick glance at his watch: 8:47. He only had 13 minutes to go. Hurrying his pace, he trudged faster through the high weeds that laid between him and the railroad. His heart began to beat faster and he could feel the quickening pulse in his temples. A hollow began to form in the pit of his stomach, but he ignored it and pressed on. As the pile of rocks with the rails on top rose above the horizon of weeds before him, he quickly entered the clearing surrounding the railroad. Surveying his surroundings with a fake bemused detachment, he considered the place that was soon to become his gravesite. 8:50. He laid his satchel down upon the pile of rocks and slowly eased himself to the ground, the length of his body perpendicular to the row of rails that ran for miles in each direction. He adjusted his cloak across his back to provide a kind of cover against the coolness of the rails. The overcast clouds ahead seemed to be moving faster, though it might have been an illusion of his overactive mind. In this place of serene, gentle beauty, he felt only anger. Hate. Felt anger and hate for the anger and hate that had been dealt to him. Whatever sliver of reservation Nick had disappeared in the face of this powerful, familiar menace. Caught up in his self-serving pity and searing pain, he did not notice the clouds begin to part above him. 8:57. As he removed his hands, which unbeknownst to him had clutched his forehead over his eyes, he drew in the tiniest breath of surprise .It was as if a crevice had opened in the great sea of clouds, giving him a full view of the stars that lay on the sea-bottom. As he stared at each one in order, he saw them twinkle. 8.58. In a sudden rush of emotions: sadness, happiness, anger, despair, grief, even the tiniest bit of Hope that remained in Pandora's Box, Nick saw his life flash before his eyes. His happiest moments intermingled with the saddest, the greatest triumphs of his life with the greatest despairs. Suddenly, he saw the twinkles of light in his own vast sea of black, his bright points of happiness in whatever dark murkiness had overwhelmed him previously. A single tear rolled down his cheek at the beauty of it all as he heard the train whistle in the distance. The feelings of remorse and regret that he had ignored previously flared up en masse at this moment. His pulse quickened as he considered the consequences and severity of this quest that he had undertaken. He vacillated between leaving the place and remaining here… though he now saw the light, it by no means compensated for the great sadness of his life. He still had much to gain by losing everything. These words he thought to himself as the whistles grew louder and he saw the single light of the train appear over the horizon. 8:59. As he stared at it, the brightness of it turned all of his sight into a single white blotch on the canvas of his mind. He stared back towards the weeds now as the tears flowed freely. This circle of light remained. It was all he needed, his own personal light at the end of his own personal tunnel. He turned to the side, grabbed his satchel, and began to rise as the ground rumbled and he could distinctly see the shape of the locomotive. Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat as he was jerked back towards his spot on the rails. Supposing it to be a fluke, he rose forcibly again. Still he remained stuck to his place on the railroad. In his overwhelming feelings of helplessness and terror, he searched underneath himself with his hands and felt the strip of cloak that had caught itself upon the crossties of the railroad. His last thought was one of desperation as his head was nudged gently to the side… then blackness. 9:00. More from this author

Untitled by Whitney

I sat there, Watching loves and hopes stroll by, Discussing with myself, Their pains, their joys, their lives. The first man I saw was simple, Clothed in black, He covered everything well, Disguising what he lacked. But I uncovered, With a quick and casual glance, That his loneliness consumed him, That he would have no other chance. A child came next, Dragging her shoes upon the walk, She smiled a painful grin, But couldn't bring herself to talk. For no matter what she did, No matter what she said, Her innocence had vanished, She was left with only dread. An older woman I then saw, Walking home from worship, Proclaiming the word of God, His songs upon her lip. Yet the only thing I noticed, Were the lies among her life, The hypocrisy that plagued her, And her independent strife. I saw these three, As they passed by, And the more I thought, The more I cried. Each one was different, Each one the same, But I cried not for them, Not for their shame. I wept for myself, And my own imperfections, For they were me, and I, them All headed in that same direction. I saw in myself, What I saw at that place, For in myself is each of them, Marked only by a different face. We are all one, Our flaws they are the same, We are merely each other, Called by different names. I am in fact, That loner, fake, and child, And with the mistakes of each, I shall put myself on trial.

Untitled II by Whitney

They tell me to grow. They tell me to mature. They tell me to change. i'm trying hard to figure it out, to arrange my life, my goals, my loves. yet the more i discover, the less i understand. and everything shoves me further from that deepest meaning. My life becomes more confused, and i find myself dreaming away the truth of my virginity. i am cluttered with superficial hopes and false relationships. And so everything worth believing in slips, so quietly away from me in bright view, as it clouds the things i once understood, what i knew was true. i stand here, swinging between these worlds of knowledge and existence, trying so hard to uncover those things worth remembering, those things worth forgetting. Blindly i walk this distance, along this trail of dismal light, following that inevitable fear, fighting this eternal fight. i have no idea who i am, who They are, what this is. Every discouraged day passes. more People leave. until im marked by that blundered kiss of dissapointment. And when that virtuous day arrives, i will be more mature than ever, They tell me. But the harder i seek to uncover the use of this life, the longer i search to gain that superior knowledge, the more i try to become what they tell me to, the only thing i know for sure, is that i will never be a child again. a child who understands more but experiences less, looking at the world through innocent eyes. Before i knew definite truth, i could trust with unconditional hope. That love is gone from me now. And so i'm seeking to find myself. i want to be a child again. i want to be reborn. i want to take another chance. i want to change. i want to live that one last time.

For My Pops Who in My Heart by Le Wang

For My Pops Who in My Heart Once made a kite out of wooden sticks And with bed sheets. Who changed my diapers Always checked twice Who would not get upset Just because I wet the bed. Who gave me his wallet-size portrait When he’d go on a Business trip So I wouldn’t grow lonely. Who made cups, towers, frogs, and birds Out of paper And taught me how Even if it took hours to explain. Who would always cook food Vibrant colors Red tomatoes And purple egg plants And sweet potatoes with sugar. Who would wait While everyone else ate Fresh and hot dishes. Which I’d taken for granted. FOR MY POPS WHO IN MY HEART Has all the answers to my questions Who told tales of the stars The moon And the sun Who spent two years of savings On a piano Black reflections with golden flower engravings Dark tones White and black keys A piano that he loved Which I had never took time To learn. WHO IN MY HEART Knew all the things in our house Even the broken pieces of Lego The right arm of a Lego space man. The light of a space ship Fallen in the comer under the bed. POPS WHO IN MY HEART Came to the US to bring me For the better education I would have. Who saved money for my tuition. And Wore old clothes Bought from yard sales But new clothes for me. Did everything to save money And seemed to sacrifice all the little things in life He COULD have enjoyed. Of all the sacrifices I had taken them for granted.

Untitled III by Whitney

I dance in a blaze of failure, an intended emotion, an eternal hypocrisy, an inevitable passion. Allow me to burn by myself, my faults to ashes, my glories to dust, my love to smoke. Deluded comfort and false joy. You butcher me into happiness and leave me for evil. Let me live, or destroy me. I am not you and will never be.

My Path by Tim

The path ahead lies frosted; biting the harsh winter wind digs claws into skin For indeed I know the path ahead is long, and I've only begun to begin. Through twisted branches, vines and brambles I'll trudge along, forsaking woe I'll bear the weight that fate hath dealt me through valleys' depth and rivers' flow For though the cold breeze bears no mercy, forsakes the flesh and chills to bone Ahead I'll push to a house yet empty Save for the love that cruel fate has thrown She lies ahead with arms outstretched, funneling fire with her radiant glow, So close we stand, though miles asunder: to this, my love, my path shall go.