Volume 38 ~ 2015

 

                  

We Are

Fireflies, the night’s eyes, a thousand sighs,

a book of lies, the truth inside, and dreamers.

We are young volcanoes, wild and covering

every floor in lava. We are the ones

 

who parent books—birth and raise them

in our spare time.  We throw up our stories

onto paper pages. We are the ones who walk

 

into the park to find a corpse. We scare

children and abuse characters. We are the ones

who devour freedom in the form of red,

white, and berry Pop Tarts; a majestic eagle

 

circles above us. Our days consist of writing

to dead people, our mothers begging us to stop.

We are creative, bright beings. We paint

 

the pictures of words and the world changes.

We are ugly creatures with words in our brains.

We are the ones, the hot babes, who talk

to flowers at Shopko and contemplate

 

life in the eyes of petals. We are students,

learning to balance gnomes on our heads

and words on our tongues.

 

We practice: writing, napping, not

disturbing Gary. Matt Damon practice at 11:40.

Standing on chairs at 11:42. Screaming

into the void at 11:44. We are writers with

 

happy tears and Pop Tart frosting for ink.

We astound readers with our lampshade

metaphors. We are freedom, falling

 

from wings of eagles as feathers. We are

teenage playground enthusiasts, terrorizing

every child trying to swing.

We are lightning, fire and power.

 

We are gnomes and gnome

lovers. We are flowers.

Fireflies. 

 

 

 

 

a collective poem written by

the creative writing class