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Who Is to Say

Who Is to Say

Olivia King ‘17

Perfection is but an illusion
Chased around like a lightning bug in the dark,
Appearing just long enough for you to grab hold,
Only for it to escape and once again taunt, in the blink of an eye
The compliment, more so a burden,
Haunting a society, which so desperately tries to achieve it
Leaving all who walk the earth preoccupied
With the nonexistent myth

Perfection is but an affliction
Thrown around like the “hot potato” when you were six
Labeling one thing before something different comes along,
Snatching the word for an instant
Before something else does the same

Perfection is but a misconception
For who is to say what is?
The idea as unique to an individual as a fingerprint,
Changing from one pair of shoes to the next
Leading to the brutally honest reality
That not only is perfection not real

But perfection is not right

Life Is Like a Train

Life Is Like a Train

Andrew Forschler ‘16

Streamlined, steam line

Chromed body

The train rushed on through the valley

A woman

New white mink coat

A man

Gun in hand

Dark suit

Sat down to eat in the dining car

White floor shining

Chrome counter glistening

A waiter

White tailcoat

Came for the order

“Bring on the champagne!”

Demanded the man

“I think I’d prefer a red wine tonight.”

Said the woman

The waiter brought the wine and glasses

A taste

“It’s good.”

The woman said

“More! Pour!”

Shouted the man

The waiter poured wobbly when the train rocked from a rough place on the rails

The mink

The floor

The tailcoat

The man

Gun in hand

Fired

*bang*

The white floor now had a new red coat

I guess what I mean to say is

That life is like a train

In that there is a definite beginning and end

Wake Me Up

Wake Me Up

Catie Ogilvie ‘17

The alarm goes off.

It’s 6:10.

I roll back and forth.

Slowly and calmly,

I rise to make the loud noise stop.

Wiping my eyes,

I notice the extra make up from the day before.

The halls are dark.

No lights,

natural or artificial.

I close the bathroom door behind me.

The creaking echoes throughout the house.

Gently,

I turn the shower knob.

The warm water hits the shower floor.

One toe at a time,

I step into the small bathtub.

The water comes down like small sprinkles fall onto ice cream.

It washes away the tiredness of the morning.

Finishing the shower,

I brush my hair.

Every strand is a different shade of brown.

It dries quickly,

almost as quick as it took to brush my hair.

Finally,

I put my make up on.

Girls put it on like they would put paint on a canvas,

unique to each person and very carefully.

To finish the morning,

I eat a small breakfast.

It consists of fruit and a cup of juice.

A light breakfast to hold me over until lunch.

My morning goes by slowly,

and then all at once.

The day opens and closes like a book,

and we repeat the same story line until the last chapter.

The Mood of Music

The Mood of Music

Bernadette Pantazis ‘17

Pop, the leader of the age

Contained in today's mainstream cage

Who's designed to give what the masses want

While every station encourages her flaunt

Rock, the rebel, born of rage

Whose goal is to break the decibel's gauge

Inciter of feelings revolutionary

"The Devil's Music," approved only rarely

Techno, the computer's musical wage

Where software and programs replace the page

And noises and beeps comprise its face

Its only goal: to "drop the bass"

Rap, the words of those deranged

All bare, no talent, no melody, no range

The poet's naked feelings, spit out on a mic

A loud and brash rant, the two are alike

Classic, the olden day's golden sage

Who waved the baton like an ancient mage

Thrown to the side, outdated, ignored

Its most recent achievement is making youth bored

Everywhere you look, some music is hated

Someone's taste is wrong, it seems to be fated

Some genres will rise, and others must fall

All I have to say is, "What's wrong with liking it all?"

The Best Man (a memoir of a loved one)

The Best Man 
(a memoir of a loved one)
Patrick McInerney ‘17

Why must we die? Why must our loved ones leave us? One day we’re here, the next we are gone. Gone forever. Why do bad things happen to good people? The best man of all men, the most courageous, the most loving, the one which looks after everyone but himself. Why must he leave? No one knows the reason for sure?

There once was a man who was as strong as a lion, as courageous as a bear, and who had a love for his family deeper than anyone alive. God took this man from this earth a year before his 50th birthday. He was the best of all uncles, the greatest of all siblings, the most sincere of all sons. He was the person who deserved life more than anyone. Maybe that is the reason that he is gone. Maybe God called him early because he deserved paradise. My uncle truly was the best of us. I talked to him two days before his unexpected passing. He called for my brother to congratulate him on his high school graduation. He called on three different occasions, unable to reach my brother on all three. I so deeply regret that I had not tried harder to let him talk to my brother by phone. The last time I spoke to him he wished my family his blessings and his love. Every time he called he would send his blessings and love.

It happened so suddenly, the day after the graduation party many family members were still around. We received a call that my uncle had died that morning at his friend’s house in Colorado. At this point no one knows why or how. The only thing I know is that I love my Uncle Danny. Every person that met my Uncle loved him. God loved Uncle Danny. I know that one day we will meet again in heaven. One day we will see each other again in paradise. Until that day I will try my best to be like Uncle Danny. I will do my best to love the way he loved his family and his God. Uncle Danny, I wish you were here with me now, I wish I could talk to you again and hear you laugh. I wish I could give you that big bear hug you always give me.  I wish I could go fishing with you like we planned, and go skiing in Colorado. I wish you would pick me up from that airport in New York one more time, and we could sit in traffic. Even then I would still be happy because I am with you. I wish I could spread the happiness you spread every time you walked through the door. I cannot bear to think that I will never see you again on this earth. I wish that this was just a bad dream, and I could wake up and know that you will come to visit soon. Uncle Danny I love you. Pray for me as I will pray for you. Take it easy in heaven big guy, I will make it back to you one day. You will always be in my heart Uncle Danny. I love you so much. 5/24/15.

Our Love Story

Our Love Story

Eva Price ‘17

Beautiful dawn, with its golden streams

The pink of roses blushing the morning

The ease of dewed grass and the comfort of blue

That is how love is supposed to be.

But ours

Ours was swift morning air

Tinkling the branches and sweeping the bird’s calls

And I was hypnotized by the powdered sky

But I guess you weren’t.

If it had to end,

I wish our dusk would have settled into the lilac fields

With the slow of evening.

Not into quick shadows,

And dark, fogged skies.

Once my irises could welcome the black silence,

You were gone.

Too many false hopes,

Too many hours of denial were spent

Before the storms had begun to turn to drizzles,

And the up above had decided to mercifully calm.

The mist is still softening

But the moon is beginning to glow through

And finally the stars are coming alight