Trying to touch each silent sky
The blue beings and their absent “cure-alls”,
Descend from this world’s eye
Lying, trying, and deluding each and every one of them
Scowls fill her room to its border
Each trifling thought thunk, she condemn
“Shut up!” says the hoarder
The stench of waveless souls,
Leaves agony in one's throat
The paper plane’s heart is filled with holes
While the whiskered man has no right to dote
Fabricating reasons for our own demise,
In cells with lingering hues
The mouth of the white rabbit we try to pry
And so soaring high concludes
Trying to find each offer of truth,
Something not known to the deep blue
With every silver spheres unhinged youth
For the toad and the donkey, I saw through
Wanting something more than pink salmon senses,
But not quite knowing why
When the flower’s petals fly to all brown fences
The green walls start to cry
--Emily T.,6th-8th Grade