If I could write a letter to the world I’d ask. What about me? In ten years I’ll be 22. What will the world look like then? The worlds past generations have left us. The world where leaders aren’t leaders and peace isn’t peace and answers aren’t Answers and it’s all falling down and I’m tired. Where the clear blue sky will only be a distant memory and the west will be little more Than scorched land. Will there still be injustice? Prophet of doom, pleased to meet you. It doesn’t affect us. I’ve heard that more than enough. But that doesn’t mean you stop fighting. And maybe it’ll never be enough. We are so much better than this We were great. Are we? Were we? Is great coming and claiming and stealing and colonizing and reinventing and lying then finding and taking and enslaving and reinventing and attempting and upheaving and Incarcerating and reinventing and deporting and killing and reinventing and reinventing And reinventing. And reinventing. And burying And denying And justifying for your own comfort. We don’t change by forgetting. We change by remembering. We don’t change by trying. We change by doing. This is us. This has always been us. In ten years I’ll be 22 will it still be the same? Will it? Will it be screams and shouts and flags from lost causes and glass shattering and anarchy and chaos and then we are raised fists and open palms and singing and hoping we shall overcome and guns pointed and we have to kneel? Someday… Is that the world you want to leave to me? to them? to us?
Young Bloggers
Life Inside a Staircase, a poem by Arjun, 9
Arjun, 9 (Midlothian, VA) Life Inside a Staircase Arjun Nair, 9 I wonder how it would feel to live inside a staircase. A loud STOMP, STOMP captures every peculiar moment. People are walking up and down. Sometimes they think again and turn around. When people decide to leave, they sometimes destroy their house into a flattened leaf. What happens to the staircase? It is left behind, In the dark and gloomy night. No one to walk on the staircase. No one to talk to on the staircase. You would feel abandoned. Forgotten. Alone. Until. A new house is built around the staircase, a new life is built. If you ever want to live in a wooden staircase, believe me– it will have to be a good staircase. This poem was submitted as part of our March 2021 Flash Contest, “Write a story set somewhere you’ve never been.”
Spring in Central Park, a poem by Lila Laton, 11
Lila Laton, 11 (New York, NY) Spring in Central Park Lila Laton, 11 The cherry blossoms are blooming. That means that spring is here. Mr. Frosty is parked at the side of the road, and a kind grandmother is buying ice cream for a little child with snot running down his nose. People pose in front of the cherry blossom trees taking pictures. Couples, children and parents, friends. Someone proposes and everyone claps. The clouds are moving on, and people are happy again. That means that spring is here. This poem was submitted as part of our April 2021 Flash Contest, “Visit the same place every day for a week and document what you see.”
