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The Sharon Academy
I could sleep here, among the trees.
I could lie here, close my eyes, and just breathe.
I could sleep here, staring up at the snow;
But I won't; I just wanted you to know.
I can breathe here, in this fresh tingly air.
I can wonder here, why life is not fair.
I can breathe here, or maybe I'll not;
But I won't; don't worry, it was only a thought.
I could sing here, let sound free from my heart.
I could dance here, and stop playing my part.
I could sing here, let the world hear my love;
But I won't; my voice is all yours, my dove.
I could hope here, where time seems to stop.
I could dream here, on flakes the trees seem to drop.
I could hope here, where my face meets the day;
But I won't; because you think it's better that way.
I could love here, crystals hanging like hearts.
I could live here, icicles like darts.
I could love here, and you tell me no;
But I won't; (I like the idea, though).
We could age here, under this cold.
We could age here, stay until we grow old.
We could age here, where ice freezes our sleep;
But we won't; the mountains are just too deep.
I could love you, with your eyes of black coal.
I could love you, with your ice-crossed soul.
I could love you, with your lashes of frost;
But I won't; with the red rose, I know that you I have lost.
Winter is not meticulous
It kisses every inch of bare skin its
Snow fox flurries come across
The pink petals of noses, the red riddles of ears
Opening up to the sound of the
Wind’s unraveling silk.
Winter is a map of silver
Each snowflake its own
Demographic doorway to perfection
A shock of crystal detail
Sprinkled in my sister’s infinite hair.
Winter is a gift to the blind
For even they can feel
The morning light
Bouncing off every blade of frost and
The sky is a dark swirling mess when the car stutters to a halt, its remaining life juice draining from it.
This poem was written by both Izzi and Gus Byrne. Gus is in 5th Grade at Open Fields School.
There's a man outside my window
Who will not go away
He showed up there this morning
He's been standing there all day
I know that he is watching me
He hasn't moved an inch
The time was more than halfway through 1773
When You Wish Upon A Star
The fireflies flicker in the warm summer night, flying free in the great expanse of the universe. Their luminescent bodies twinkle in the darkness like hundreds of tiny stars. The little girl stares up in wonder, her firefly jar in one hand and a sticky popsicle in the other. She isn’t wearing shoes, and the grass tickles her feet. Her eyes are wide with curiosity and she turns to me and smiles a smile that reaches deep inside and touches my heart.
“Look at them!” she says.
I nod, “It’s amazing.”
The reticent reaches of the jungle hide many a forgotten world
to be gazed upon anew.
A great stone visage of an abstruse deity
Lying seems so easy,
To your teacher,
To your parents,
To cheat yourself,
I hear the crunch of leaves below my feet,
I care desperately,
Tearing urgently towards approval for the
face I wear that day.
Life a stage for posturing, peacocks all.
Intelligent life piped into Aeropostale outfits,
The mind was bound to be abandoned.
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