MPitS - Fort Bragg High School

MPitS

Fort Bragg High School
2002/2003

The Ink of Reform

He sits in a hard backed wooden chair
Like a doctor hunched over his patient
Cutting, sewing, stitching, connecting
His thoughts, how tauntingly they drift away.
His back is aching, the chair digs deep
Into his flesh, yet his pain is not tangible
He writes, his pen taps, the ink spreads
Like a lake sprinkling and flowing
Across the parchment
The lake surrounds him, and he is floating
In his thought
The words try to weigh him down but
He treads on, the feather in his hand
An oar that lifts his head
Above the water line.
He gasps for breath, for life
His thoughts bring him closer to the truth
Closer to the oversoul that is hoovering like a
Pink cloud that stretches to the horizon
And mirrors the setting sun
Walden, too, becomes a pink cloud
Of a pink sun, until its waters splash
Into the black, bleak night.

Rachel Macy, 10th grade
Connie Turrentine, classroom teacher

Salvation

Tell me Judas
why you took those golden coins
Because a life of pleasure
supercedes a guilt-free conscience
And eternity
is just another word?

Crucifixion
Exhausting in its indeterminability
Boredom seeping through the cracks
and they tell me God sees everything
But he missed me somewhere along the way

And this downward spiral
seems to carry us more swiftly
to the forbidden shore
where morality
is mythical
and Bibles burn on charnel fires
Steeping weary bones
in a ressurrecting hedonism
Never looking back

Across the grey, rolling waters
To a world of mushroom clouds
In a toxic paradise
of delicious carcinogens
Maybe that's why we kill each other
In bitterness
To rise above the putrid stench
and find salvation in that moment
of sin-defying bliss
and sticky-sweet amnesia.

Jon Chepolizzi
10th grade
Connie Turrentine, classroom teacher

Crowd

Bubbling black talk in a circle
in a blob, in a triangle, in a square.
No one is alone, everyone knows something
and it connects them
like a hidden dog leash
wrapped around each neck
everyone attached
They're standing in a rich shiny black puddle
and they don't know it
they can't feel it.
On the same channel
the negative charge flashes through the puddle
and jerks them upright.
Everyone standing the same
looking the same
parallel, dispersed evenly like
bristles on a black plastic comb.
I can take that comb
and brush my hair.
Everyone is the same in a crowd.

Blake Tallman, 10th grade
Connie Turrentine, classroom teacher

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