When it rains
Little branches get wet
And droplets form on them
Not falling
Just waiting to drop
Some want it
Want to fall to this puddle from which there is no return
And some love it up there

They will drop though
That's for sure

Will they be shaken accidentally by a girl taking a walk?
Will the water build up so much
And they aren't strong enough?
Will they evaporate?

They will all fall
Eventually

Is that comforting?
Sad?
Is it crazy?

I dream of a woods
with a house in it's middle.
I dream of images
I do not dare to describe in daylight.
I dream of friends
that do not exist.

Sometimes I even dream about the future,
but it has been long since
I dreamt about love, or the sun.
It has been too long
since I dreamt about a laugh, or you.

Like the moon
     you pull me towards
         but too soon
  you push me away.
We never touch, but
      -like ebb and flow-
         I am forever entangled with you.

I have been robbed,
  was not prepared,
When you appeared from the opposite side
   and entered upon the battlefield.

I had weapons nor experience,
You had grace and bravery
                like you always did.

And now,
  after piercing my chest with your spear,
you leave me,
abandon me,
Collapsed and alone in the desert.

Dandelion,
The rustling of your hair makes me dream about trees.
You breathe the warm summer air that lounges shyly as April comes to an end.
I swallow your words and they nest inside my belly.
I grow your thoughts;
they’ll flower
and I’ll sing.
We will meet each other on the edge of
cast sunlight
and its shadows.

Innocence white
Sadness grey
Colours help
Through the day.
Golden heart
True blue
Seas of colour
For me and you.
Red cherries
Blue berries
Let these
Colours flow,
Into the
***
At the end
of your
Rainbow.

I want to live,
Not just exist,
Is what most people say.

But I want to exist,
Not be alive,
I’m just surviving each day.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                            The Last American Westclox Baby Ben

                                                         (Maybe)


It ticked into my heart at the Goodwill store
Two dollars’ worth of Americana
A charmer in a battered metal shell
Hiding behind a tired plastic face

The tick, the tock, the talk of Peru, Illinois
The clock that woke America each dawn
For work and study, and to meet the Chicago train
For a century until time ran out

It clicks and clanks and ticks and tocks and talks

All-day dutiful hands, a jangling bell -
How long will this old clock last?

Only time will tell

do not clench your fist
so that what is in your hand
will not be taken away

open your fist to share
something more valuable
will come into your hands.