Voices & Visions Fauquier High School 2016 - 2017
“...what of ours will be considered an antique?” The Voices and Visions staff wants to welcome you to thisyear’s edition of Fauquier High School’s literary magazine. Our staffstrives to find the best works from all of Fauquier’s students andpublish them in the magazine for a wide audience to experienceand enjoy. We select the best and view them anonymously tomaintain an unbiased review process. We edit submissions only forclarification, and we always check with the artists and authorsbefore we edit. Our goal with the literary magazine is for readers tosit down and appreciate the beauty that encompases us in oureveryday lives. As we all say goodbye to another year of our lives, we taketime to reflect on what we’ve left in our past. Typewriters,watches, and polaroid cameras are all considered antiques, but whatof ours will be considered an antique? The antique theme of thisyear’s magazine is meant to stir a nostalgic feeling in ourselves aswe all take another step closer to adulthood. Enjoy your flash to thepast, as we are proud to present the 2017 edition of Fauquier HighSchool’s literary and art magazine… Voices and Visions
Voices & VisionsFauquier High School’s Literary and Art Magazine Volume 51 2016-2017 Aidan Kierans | “The Bridge” | Photography 705 Waterloo Road, Warrenton, VA 20186 [email protected] (540) 347-9100
Student Table of Contents Type Title Page Free VerseChristopher Agey Star-lit Dancing 43Molly Avery memes 50 Lyric Poem No 12 Slam Poem What in Tarnation? 28 Lyric PoemLexi Boone New Year 36 Free Verse Winter 19 Free VerseMeaghan Chesley Caving Greenery 32-33 Photograph Rough Brick Home 6 Photograph The War 27 Free VerseRobert Chierichiella The Valley 14-15 Short StoryElise Clonts Becaus I Remember 64 Free Verse Shadow on the Wall 20 Free Verse Cacophony 11 Free Verse Alex Craig A Simple Farm 56 Shorty Story Rachel Crawford Night Owl 10 Free VerseAlexandra Ferentinos An Artist’s Sorrow 34-35 Free Verse Abbi Findley Leaving California 23 Free Verse Sydney Folsom Simplicity 4 Free Verse Julia Rose Fork Dragon 47 Colored pencil Mirror Image 17 Copic Marker Connor Fox Abigail Glenn Ode to Sleep 54 Ode Hailey Glenn Hannah Holland Hidden 13 Photograph Hunt Photograph Necromancer Photograph That Sarurday Night 44 Free Verse The Truth Game 62 Free Verse Warmest Sunlight 38 Photograph The Greatest Generation 60 Graphite Sitting Down 39 Free Verse Remnants 53 Free Verse Blue 63 Colored Pencils
Table of ContentsStudent Title Page TypeAidan Kierans A Good Man 31 Short Story Photography The Bridge 1Max McDaniel-Neff Figure Series Pt.#1 21 Oil Pastel You Are What you Eat 29 Oil PastelRyan McDaniel-Neff It Was You 16 Free Verse Maharun Miah Hans 9 ClipStudio Nina Quiles Holly Robinso Home is Where the Heart 7 Free Verse Verunka Rucká is Jake Sadowski Purity 40 Prose Jewelea Shubert Sydney Stafford A Touch of Blue 30 Acrylic Paint Icicle 18 Photograph Bri Thibeault Roadtrip 48 Photograph Bailey Tressler Seeking Immortality 49 Free Verse Jessica Tressler Jose Uribe Lightning Strikes 52 Photograph Peace, Love, Serenity 59 Photograph Bella Van PattonBailey Whittington The Artist Pet 22 Acrylic Paint Emma Winters Stripped 41 ProCreate Here’s to Her 24 Free Verse Lover’s Embrace 42 Photograph To The Keys 8 Free Verse Sweet Prince 61 Lyric Poem Hope Never Dies 58 Free Verse Start a Fire 46 Lyric Poem Breathless 55 Photograph Simple Life 5 Photograph Creation 37 Copic Marker Portrait Collage 51 Mixed Media Black & White Sounds Cover Photograph Downcast 26 Photograph Abyss 11 Photograph
Simplicity By Rachel Crawford Simplicity Sipping tea wrapped up in plush blankets Softer than clouds, you fight soft yawns As raindrops race down the foggy window Pitter pattering on the roof that keeps you dry Book in hand with background radio sounds Another Sunday afternoon at home Nothing truly special to look forward to Still, snuggling into the sinking cushions, you Take another sip, turning the page once more4 Voices and Visions
Simple LifeVerunka Rucká Photography 5Volume 51
Rough Brick Home Meaghan Chesley Photography6 Voices and Visions
Home is where the Heart is By Nina Quiles If love were a clay mug Ours would have cracked in the kiln “Star crossed lovers” does not do us justice We exploited potential beauty We dismantled the shell of domesticity We built our home on false pretenses The ghost skulked through holes in the ceiling The hate slurred across our walls The mantle was nonexistent The holes were an eviction of privacy The crumbling walls were caving in The only escape was through the ceiling You boarded the doors You let the weeds invade You became the vines Ivy has replaced your bones Your breath smells of humming bees And those immortal cigarettes “Star crossed lovers” does not do us justice 7Volume 51
To the KeysBy Bailey Tressler Pressure hold fast to A crescendo of my fingertip pads, malicious intent Boiling to rage as the the unique curvature emotional cliff, indents clawing keys of Ever lurks music eyes moistening to the Scaling up with blistered finger tips, melody I breathe An unkempt temper in Benevolent waves rolling to shore in tow, the early morning dawn demons of times past A fishing boat sways dance and parade free side to side of strain, A maternal rocking as Pretentiously prowling if to sooth and snarling to the keys Thumb through pinky on each hand tingle with Hammers slam cords feverishly, vibration after vibration Each producing a diluted call of the Each gentle caress of ivory dead A final breath echoes provoking an itching, sensation of longing with the last Too great to convey resounding vibration An index penetrates a And silence ensues gentle wave, Neutral and indifferent Deepening its meaning and pain8 Voices and Visions
Hans 9Volume 51Maharun Miah Clipstudio
Night Owl By Alex Craig Soft glowing lights and gentle nights Make up most of my mind. With the setting of the sun, It’s as if the warden has retired to his chamber. By then, anyone who would thrust responsibility, stress, or obligation onto me Has drifted away. Under the moons guidance All manner of things come out to walk. Besides, when has anything interesting shown itself during the day?10 Voices and Visions
Cacophony By Elise Clonts The sound of millions of snowflakes hitting the cold, dead ground is anything but silentAbyss//Emma Winters//Photography 11Volume 51
NO Then why does it still haunt me to this day? No! It won’t ever go away fully,By Molly Avery Because your mind becomes your own bully. The first word I was told in middle school No! was “no.” You will not give them an excuse. Cause they humiliate, and intimidate, and I found that odd because some kids got a discriminate, “hello” or “welcome,” And then fly to their God and claim their But I got a no. saints. No. No! They’re the reason I don’t feel pretty. Well, in August I met some girls, who And no, don’t you dare try to give me your adorned pearls. pity. I am no attention seeker, I hate appearingIn September we were thick as thieves, with weaker, tricks up our sleeves. And do not usually voice my insecurities on the loudspeaker. In October they dressed up as the Devil’s No! Queen, even after Halloween. Someone has to speak up for those who are too afraid,In November they found humor, in starting And the revolution of change will be in this a rumor. decade. Someone has to speak out, for those living In December half the grade took part, in in doubt, shattering my heart. Before their thoughts decide to strikeout. No! No! No! No? In January they said I was overweight, even … I got tired of the word no. though I never touched my plate. So I thought, what if I was a yes? Yes to the scarred, the abused, theIn February my confidence flew to the sky, as forgotten. I became shy. Yes to the birthmarks, the disorders, the unrotten. In March I nearly went insane, from the Yes to the overweight, the strange, the words they had stained onto my brain. afraid. In April they had no wishes to say, despite the fact it was my birthday. By the end of May I was sick of it all, no longer would I be their rag doll.They’ll calm you with words like, “it’s not the end.” Encourage you to find some new friends. No! They’ll say, “the pain will go away.”12 Voices and Visions Yes to the revolution in this decade!
Necromancer, Hunt, Hidden 13Volume 51 Sydney Folsom Photography
The Valley around the valley. “What a weird phenomenon.” You By Robert Chierichella mumbled, trying and failing to recall having ever seen“Where…am I?” The query pushed something like it.forth from your mouth as you “Magnificent, isn’t it?” Astood, the soil of the ground strange figure said at yourdirtying your hands everywhere side, his feathered capeyou touched. “What the-?” You billowing in the wind.were cut off by a loud gust Normally, you would have beenof wind, taking your glasses shocked to see such a largefrom you and carrying them off figure, the thing easily twicewith another powerful gust. your height. However, you“No!” You cried, reaching out didn’t feel the need toin vain as they were carried cower or flee from thebeyond your limited vision. creature. Instead you felt“Darn.” You shook your head impossibly calm, serenityand shielded it from another washing over you like a wave.gust of wind. The grass “What are you?” You asked thetickled your bare feet; the caped thing before you,thick stalks of vegetation certain that whatever itbending before the was, it wasn’t human. “I ampowerful wind. You covered Death.” The thing repliedyour head with your hands, simply, casually, his headleaving cracks in your fingers held high to stare at thefor your eyes so you could at mountain range ahead of them.least try to get a sense of Death wore a ravenwhere you were. Staring into feathered cloak, his anklethe distance, you made the length skirt blacker thanassumption that those black oil. His head was obscured byand brown splotches on the a large hood, the top of ithorizon were mountains. shaped like a raven’s head,Turning, you realized that beak and all. “Oh,” you saidthe range bent inward, to Death, craning your headcreating a perfect circle to look at the towering figure beside you. “So I guess14 Voices and Visions that means I’m…” “Yes.” Death nodded to you, clasping his
hands neatly behind his back. stairs leading up the face“Walk with me friend.” With of the mountain.“From here,that Death put one foot in you can continue on, to thefront of the other, walking kingdom where I cannot reachserenely, and silently, you.” He said to you, lettingtowards the mountain range. his hand fall to his side.Without a word you followed, Slowly, almostkeeping up with Death’s long ritualistically, he pluckedstrides without too much a feather from his cloak.trouble. “Did I at least die You felt a yearning warm yourwell?” You asked once you chest, a fuzzy and smallwere at Death’s side once thing that commanded yourmore, watching as a feather attention. “Or, you canfell off of Death’s cloak. return to my realm, and liveThe figure only shook his head, once more.” Death said,bowing it solemnly. “No, you outstretching his hand. “Makedid not.” Death waved his your choice.”covered hand in a small You glanced towards themotion before him. A window mountains and the stairs toof light appeared see a person at their base,before you, showing your wife only one step above thestanding over your corpse, a ground. His beautiful wingsbloody knife clutched between were whiter than the puresther hands. “Oh.” You said, snow,a radiant lightlooking away from the window flowing from them. He staredand pursing your lips. “Thank at you, clearly waiting foryou,” You said to Death as you. Even as you met the newthe window disappeared, figures eyes, your hand wentleaving the mountain range to meet Death’s. Plucking thelooming before them. “You now feather from his grip, youhave a choice.” Death stopped were gone as soon as you’dwalking, turning to face you come. Death went to meet thewith an arm outstretched. eyes of the other figure, not“This is as far as I can take saying a word as the darkyou.” Death said to you, figure disappeared into awaving to the mountain range. cloud of ravens.Even without your glasses,you could almost make out the 15Volume 51
It Was You By Ryan McDaniel-Neff You You were my favorite place Not a house or a river or a castle You I danced in the green forests of your eyes I swam in the waves of your hair I got lost when I looked at you Because there was no map big enough to help me escape And that was okay Because I never wanted to leave But once I got too comfortable Once I stripped down my shields The forest in your eyes burned black against my skin And the waves in your hair drowned me And I was still lost I was still lost and there was still no map What do I do? What do I do when I’m trapped in my favorite place? A place that isn’t my favorite place16 Voices and Visions
Mirror ImageAlexandra Ferentinos Copic Marker 17Volume 51
18 Voices and Visions Icicle Verunka Rucká Photography
Winter By Lexi Boone It’s soft and quiet Blanketing the decaying signs of autumnWith a comforting pure whiteTelling us that good thingsWill come from the dead and cold Of winter 19Volume 51
Shadow on the Wall By Elise Clonts The vapour clouds the already foggy mess A blotted swirl of undefined shapes The ground and walls now adopting the once physical form Every stagger a magnified bound Unfinished feet contacting cracked sidewalks Pavement splintered, like her heart is about to be. Empty man full of liquor Not he the monster, but his shadow A black, crying whale beached in the gutter Spewing profanities and evaporated water Broken man to broken house full of broken bottles And a scarred wife Arms of the trees grab at him But they only overlap No true guardian Black to black as the grey fades to charcoal A solid wall and a dented knob No fight against the streetlight But on the looming street A house once full of light Is dimmed out Suffocated By the monster The shadow on the wall20 Voices and Visions
Figure Series Part 1 21Volume 51 Max McDaniel-Neff Oil Pastel
The Artist Pet Sydney Stafford Acrylic Paint22 Voices and Visions
Leaving California By Rachel Crawford You always wanted an escape; From the lights and busy bodies, the honking of angry people, fear of harm at night and day. I hope you find what you need away from starless midnight skies, trash cloaking the concrete path and thumps of those above your room. I know you deserve much better than sunbeams through smog, cigarettes and drugs at your feet, drunken parties each Friday night. I’m only sorry I was never enough to take you away myself; in thoughts, in dreams alone. At least wherever you are now I’m sure you can see the stars;after all, you always wanted to be one. 23Volume 51
Here’s to Her By Bailey Tressler Ice blue irises Layers of the tropic sea features painted in beauty Shoulder length wisps of hair sweep the page As the scent of sweet nectar wafts Eyebrows knit together Words scroll her face; brilliant, cunning, delightful enticing, dominant, powerful shut off piercing Unabiding A pen to paper Worldly madness channeled From her heart, to her head, to the black inked pen Here Spilling over Ink-stained fingers Distance overlaps Physical and mental strength Argue Clouds enter her vision, suffocating pain Whispered truths Lifeless withdrawal Black ink bleeds through the lined pages Screams of ‘I love you’ Lost to the violence of the storm Unreachable in the tattered chaos She talks a big game A violent tempest wreaking havoc, with Forceful winds that24 Voices and Visions
Cross, destroy, and repel, appears threatening With clear warnings of danger ahead, a snarky whirlwind of fury All shown through her abrasive demeanor Yet the walls of debris Fall away in the safety of the eye The guarded treasure trove For those who fight the storm A life in shifts A slight grin ecstasy; Her laugh could cure cancer; Heartwarming, melodic, adorable; Hiccuping giddiness seeps into souls surrounding; Love healing what has been lost in another a troublemaker, lunatic; Her head and short torso wiggle slightly nose tilted upward; That mischievous little grin. With a final leap I hurl myself into the eye. A gate surrounds the welcoming, warm cottage of her heart. Rays of golden light flood the entrance, The mat barely worn, for few make the journey; I open the gate, and step onto the mat,My shredded, drenched, and tattered appearance Speaking volumes. I knock confidently, A short, fiery, brunette of spunk and snarky misdemeanor Slowly opens the door in caution A tentative smile Eyebrows raised An inquiry on her face reads Are you done? I smirk And enter the house 25Volume 51
26 Voices and Visions Downcast Emma Winters Photography
The War By Meaghan ChesleyThere is no light at the end of the tunnel as there used to be The excitement of others is painful to see Sunrises draw nothing, no excitement, no rage, Just an empty threat to just turn the pageThere is no hope in warAnd happiness becomes a weight, as you search for moreBut the search is futile, because you don’t really careAnd that starts to show as your body starts to tearThe clothes become big, slouchy, wornAnd the movements become slow, as if you were tornThe perk is gone, the fatigue wrangles your faceAnd soon you start to realize that your comrades are out ofplaceYet, that is a reliefAs the feelings surroundYet you feel nothing as they push you to the groundYou scream, fight, scratch, clawOnly to realize there is no reason at allYou start to realize the mess you’re inAnd know how it could have beenShould have beenIt’s a terrifying feeling to be surrounded and not care onebitYou know the enemy isn’t playing fair and is much more fitIt starts to soak in on how you used to beAnd desperately try to figure out the bliss that you can nolonger seeAnd that’s when it hits youIt’s a shot to the gutAnd the whole hollow façade is drained and cutYou want to get outTo turn on the lightGrab your weapon of hope and fightYet, another realization, you have never uttered one wordAnd the comeback is way, way past absurdAnd now the last realization about yourself becomes almosttoo clear27That would be Fear.You are a prisoner to the quietest traitor of all, Volume 51
What in Tarnation? By Molly Avery What in tarnation Is this legislation Doing to our foundation? Our aggravation And frustration Are not up for negotiation. My fascination, My aspirations Risk penetration And face cancellation, All because I have an obligation To please our nation? Maybe I should give some elaboration On how to work communication; I am no evaluation, Examination, To be sighed at in exasperation. So I ask in desperation What in tarnation?28 Voices and Visions
You Are What You Eat 29Volume 51 Max McDaniel-Neff Tempera Paint
A Touch of Blue Verunka Rucká Acrylic Paint30 Voices and Visions
A Good Man Thus, caring for the most distraught of the dismal scene,By Aidan Kierans I spend the day dutifully answering calls to excurse andAm I a good man? excavate, finding time in between to aid the awakening, wounded I shake off my troubles, and fellows; granting respite toobserve. Rubble towers almost recently received refugees isendlessly, mountains in civil its own noble cause, and I structures’ shadows, in an admit, I have always been gifted unexpected reversion from regarding bedside manner. industrial enterprise to My first time exercising just earthen hillscape, a direct that, I found myself licking theresult of being subsumed by the face of the master, who brushed lithosphere. Those turbulent me away with a relaxed smile as throes of our troubled rockincreasingly frequently deliver she rose slowly towards consciousness once more. scattered unfortunates to Seeing her lolling ever closerdestruction. Many, however, are to wakefulness, I must confessnot lost to ill-fated ends, and I forfeited civility and dancedthe work of scouts is crucial in around her with glee, uttering cheerful gibberish. How could I the rescue of the Reaper’s not? With this prince’s kiss, my rebels. A scout myself, I escort my queen had been woken from whatparty to the bottom of a sheer may have been a hundred-yearprecipice. I sense survivors on sleep, as far as can be known!the other side of the concrete Now, I see my skills saving thewall; a discrete yet distinctly city’s sufferers from thehuman scent lingers amidst the earthquake’s aftermath, and it dust, and I detect more brings a smile to both of ourbreathing nearby than my party faces. “Who’s a good boy?” myshould account for. I leap and master asks me, and I bark inholler to signal my discovery, satisfied response, because I and succor descends, soon know the answer; mending the hope of thosewithin. I am a good man. 31Volume 51
32 Voices and Visions
Caving Greenery 33Volume 51Meaghan Chesley Photography
Artist’s Sorrow By Rachel CrawfordLindsey loved to color-in “Imagination can onlybooks, in life, in take you so far” she’deverything sayI watched each day as paint As I wondered where shecovered her arms, got them, where sheTurning her from blue to travelledpurple to red to green Magenta, turquoises,Crayons grew small while cerulean, spiraled toher art brightened and grew shapesShe told me all she saw Dashes in a hurry touchedwere colors-magical lights with sharp dabs ofDots and specks of dyes explosionscircling the flower bed I stopped admiringoutside Lindsey’s art-tired ofLindsey’s room filled of seeing nothingsmiling scenes, happy Pictures stoppedworlds appearing in my mind ofPainted faces-blue to pink her workto yellow shades Too many colors with notAbstract art of colors enough lines took controltossed upon each page Lindsey didn’t seem toI didn’t always understand mind, the markers keptthe picture, but colors comingthrived The strangers did too,Sometimes I wondered where entering her room forLindsey saw them hours Emerging like sudden34 Voices and Visions waves on the horizon
The waves that sweep away Lindsey’s art, her colorsthe most powerful of men all stood wrapped in liesDrowning the ones still As I cried in clearstanding in the vast sea without saying a singleLindsey’s art remained wordunchanging in my eyes I never understood theColors brighter than the latest of her colorssun she never seemed to Neither did Lindsey, assee she wasted away in herLocked in a room, a cagedungeon of paints-black to Crayons to cigarettes,grey markers to morphine“Lindsey’s flowers reflected All her paints mixed withher art”, they all said cocaine and its brothers“A bright young girl…too Yes, my sister imaginedsoon, too soon” colors never seen byReds and greens and pinks, naked eyesscattered around She painted art touchingHer dress a piece of work souls of all those aroundin itself, Lindsey’s herfavorite But the colors grew tooSurrounded once by the bright, too strong forlights and rainbows even LindseyNow brown to brown to And now, an easel ofbrown hugged her tightly black and white is allAnd I knew it would she left for menever let her go-only Her old work greased withblack in her sight leftover drugs, herThe crayons I cleaned up “colors”cloaked needles-silver to I don’t like to drawwhite anymore, colors are notRemnants of pictures for everyoneLindsey claimed she sawAll burned, red to orange 35Volume 51to ashes-gone forever
New Year By Lexi Boone At the end of this year I have grown stronger And braver Than I ever have been before I’m thankful for the experiences That have shaped Who I am today And for the moments That have broken me As the year comes to an end I finish writing page 365 And begin again Tomorrow On page one36 Voices and Visions
CreationBaillie Whittington Copic Marker 37Volume 51
Warmest Sunlight Julia Rose Fork Photography38 Voices and Visions
Sitting Down By Abigail GlennI stood in place for They were eacha long time. different.Waiting, though I Bushes and rocks, ordidn’t know it, roots and leaves.At that branch in the I could see that.path where you leftme. From each came aEventually, my legs different voice,began to ache Hoping to coerce meFrom waiting and to pick a path.standing for so long. Any path.But instead of Each voice fell on mywalking a path, deaf, unwilling ears.I sat down I waited there forI stared at those youhard-packed dirt For a long timelines for a long I never knew, thoughtime. That just a littleNever knowing what ways downthey were or meant. You were waiting, too 39Volume 51
Purity By Holly Robiso I once heard that purity is born inside us. As we grow I believe that the purity inside wavers. I believe it threatens to collapse andscreams to fall. They always said that there was no need to try-- said that beauty was a given. From age three I had this image of perfection wrapped in thorns and roses; a beautifulwarning. Though, perfection doesn’t come without a cost; if you touch, the thorns will be the only thing you feel. The one thing they never tell you is what purity and perfection truly looks like. It’s a girl born withbeauty inside her. She’s bright and she’s effective. She’s asiren to the ears and a threat to the eyes. A beauty in the spectrum, covered in the true colors of her Mother. Effortlessly elegant in a dress like no other. She was life itself set against death. She was naive and she was pure. She was not meaningless nor was she forgettable. She was perfection. Like every other beauty this one came with a cost. A bug inside latched onto her lungs, and ate her out till she was nothing but a hollow trunk. Then, when there was nothing left for her to live for, Mother took her. Stuffed her with nature’s beauty; her true organs. Flowers sprouted from her chest; a deep blue shade inside amagenta petal. Mother laced vines together in serene harmony and lengthened the girls legs with the stems of herprodigies. The girl was brought into nature with the love of her Mother. It’s up to you to realize that purity doesn’t belong in a world robbed of perfection.40 Voices and Visions
Stripped 41Volume 51Bri Thibeault Digital Art
42 Voices and Visions Lover’s Embrace Bailey Tressler Photography
Star-lit Dancing By Christopher Agey Dancing through the stars, Lead me through the dreams you carry Within the elegance of your mind, How you see those stars, In their innumerable space.As if they are held on the tip of your tongue, You speak in universes. And in those universes, I’ll be a star with you and Fall in awe-striking leaps Across the Heavens of this blackened Night. I’ll take your hand in mine And we’ll go dancing, Dancing with enough grace that The Gods themselves may covet us.So take me along, dancing through this O blessed night sky, Dancing through the stars. 43Volume 51
That Saturday Night I turn my head away quickly, as if to snap it in By Julia Rose Fork the right direction. I can’t It is a cloudless night in allow you to catch wind of the chilled front yard of my jealous stare, and if he where your home resides. I sit against a telephone noticed, he would surely talk to you about it. pole, not allowing the I don’t want that. obscure view of the shed I notice the other girls behind me to break the scattered around the yard,beautiful scene of the stars talking, laughing, having hanging in the night’s sky.A soothing song plays aloud, fun. I return my gaze to the one I haven’t quite heard lights in the sky, sneaking before. But, it’s a calm, silent looks at you and him relaxing melody; and your response of slow dancing at any hidden moment.with him to it tells me it’s Eventually, I stand. I walk,a love song… Your love song. putting the few walls of the shed between us, not letting I glance over at you the continuous tone of your Both of your silhouettes music distract me. illuminated by the I sit close to the far wall, undisturbed moonlight. having given myself another He holds your slim body close to himself, as your view of the infinite sky. I head rests promptly on his sit there, frozen forever in lean shoulder, tucked in time, a simple shadow in thetight, hiding your eyes from darkness. Simple, but the world. gravely lost. I watch as you two turn in slow, dreamy circles to the I notice a figure in the darkness. melody of the music. Your figure.44 Voices and Visions You crouch beside me, offering me your smooth hand. A particular sadness comes over me as I decline. In my heart, I know you
won’t let me hold you like apart… you let him hold you. You My thoughts are paused, aswon’t let me get too close. one of the other girls walks You never did before. over to me, asking if I You never will. could walk beside her in theEven if I’ve been with you darkness. longer… I go with her, not allowing You offer, and you offer; myself to be dragged And I decline, and I deeper into that pit again. decline. Yet, I still loom around it,Soon, he comes, calling to silently. Looking back to you. I tell you to go to the permanent picture in my him, finding it harder and mind of you and I, as I sat, harder to speak out. The tears slow my words clouded by darkness.while they cry out, hopingand praying to escape onto my skin. But, I don’t let them. I can’t let them. The misty darkness that surrounds us gives me areason to be glad, however. Because it’s clouded my sadness from you. At last, you leave. I tell 45Volume 51you I simply wish to look at the stars… And you believe me. I can’t let the false love crowd my veins.I can’t fall down like that. I know it will tear me
Start a Fire By Jose Uribe I hold my breath I’m on the edge I can sense they’re coming I can hear them running They whine and roar Hungry for more I’m hypnotized By their red, glowing eyes Brave, yet scared I hope I’m spared Cold, bare hands shaking in the darkness Praying not to be left a carcass Sunsets might darken skies And tears stain our eyes But may the slightest spark Start a fire46 Voices and Visions
Alexandra Ferentinos DragonColored Pencils + Copic Markers 47Volume 51
Road Trip Verunka Rucká Photography48 Voices and Visions
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