The moon rises over the setting sun,
The shallow waves rippling in the pastel twilight,
Waters reflecting the stars that slip from our veins.
Our hands grasp and grab and slip against
The coppered chains that pull us apart,
As night and day diverge.
I tell myself that
I will meet you on another planet,
The sky painted gold and silver instead of blue and black
We will stand, intertwined,
As these broken barriers between us
Fall into the waiting abyss.
Alaina Walker '24
They say that we are woven together with
Sunshine yellows and sea blues and forest greens,
Our threads intertwine to create something real,
But maybe, maybe we are
Cut by rusty hands,
With knives sharper than any we own.
The darkness reaches for us,
Laughing in our misery,
Specked with silvered light and clouds of grey,
Ash raining from the sparkling sky,
Diamonds embedded in the bedrock of our lives.
Why are our threads cut?
Why do our words burn?
Why must I watch as you and I diverge?
Why, my friend, why?
But maybe when the sands are collected and restored
To the glass that binds us all,
We will be returned to how we were,
Before the chained sun and moon stood