Eternal Darkness

Dear Mom

Untitled

Origami

Rules for
Mind Games

1. This page is for original work by students in grades nine through 12. If you didn't write it yourself, don't send it.

2. Include your name, school, home address and home phone number.

3. Each submission is published with the author's name and school. No exceptions, no pseudonyms and no initials are permitted.

4. Please, send only ONE item. The amount of space for Mind Games is limited, and we want to feature as many authors as possible.

5. Remember, variety is good. Be creative in your choice of topic.

6. Dedications to significant others are NOT printed.

7. Send all submissions to flipside@wvgazette.com.

ETERNAL DARKNESS

Darkness. It surrounds me, never letting
the light of day in.
I see my reflection in the water, but only by
the light of the mystical moon.
My eyes are accustomed to the darkness, but
my heart still aches for the healing rays
of the sun.
The world feels so cold without its warm
touch.
The night seems to last forever now.
All the sinister creatures that hide during
the day are permitted to escape their
binds and let themselves be seen.
They frighten me into silence, the world
never knowing my fears, locked away inside
of me.
The night was once my friend, but has become
my enemy, trying to conquer me with its
evil minions that thrive off the darkness
and hatred that's inside of me, inside all
of us.
Am I so terrible, so ugly on the inside, that
I don't deserve even the smallest glimpse of
what I love?

Seth Burford
Poca High School

[back to top]

DEAR MOM

Dear Mom, I miss you, and everything I had.
Dear Mom, why did they do this to me,
Did I do something really bad?
Dear Mom, did I deserve this,
Why was I on their list?
Why did they choose to kill me,
For I'm only sixteen.
Have I been an awful kid,
Did I ever act too mean?
Please tell my friends that I miss them,
And wish that I were there;
I didn't choose to leave them,
And I really care.
Please see to it that there's justice,
And the justice is really served.
I don't want the boys to continue,
I want them to get the punishment they deserve.
Nobody should have to endure
The pain of that dreadful day.
The day they shot up my school ...
Oh, words I could never say.
So tonight, Mom, look up at me, and the stars and sky above
I'll be smiling down at you, sending you all my love!

Betsy Ross
Poca High School

[back to top]

UNTITLED

This is like a battle
Friend
Enemy
No middle ground
And once you cross the line
You can never return
Your weapons are malicious words and jealousy
Your only motivation is envy
But you can't be me
So quit trying
Don't try to hurt me by being my "friend"
I don't need this

Rikki McCormick
Poca High School

[back to top]

ORIGAMI

"She aches, just like a woman ...
But she breaks, just like a little 'ol girl."
-- Bob Dylan

Wavering silhouettes against a paper
screen. A string of cranes -- threaded,
hung. A string
of me. I come to you four-cornered,
pressed, dried, pulled taut across a drum.
Yet each day you turn me diamond-size
and subtract,
more satisfied with three.
Your careless passionate finger
slides, fumbling with my crease.
I am indulgent, cuts in you soft skin stinging.
My forehead is the bite of a sharp-tongued
cicada and you remember me
after the scrape of a hickory leaf,
the morning's hasty shave.
You shape my belly into the hollow of a waterbomb
and affix your mouth to its opening. Your breath "whurring" within
is better than the cool liquid others
place inside of me. You discover that my
hips are made of arrows, that my delicate
shoulders are the union of pinched glass.
Your pricked fingers become the carmine on my lip.
Once again, I am indulgent.
I curl my crippled legs against yours,
bent stalk chopsticks
breaking. And the sloping china blossoms
bend to watch our peculiar arrangement.
It was your needle that punctured the slit
in my neck. I can still feel the
rupture of your final touch.
I shivered in wet moonrise, its milk
cascading across my form.
Wavering silhouettes against that folded paper
screen, a string of cranes -- threaded,
hung. A string
of me.
Tagged. Marked. Priced.
A shudder ripples through my wingtips, sutures
sewing the space
between us. A paper screen I could burst open with my
fist, your kiss
could do the same. A few crisp foldsand you tucked me away.
But when in you hands,
I came apart.

Alysha Wood
George Washington High School

[back to top]

[back]