Sitting in the darkened room.
Plastic flashing, sounds pulsating.
The light, when on, is harsh and unnatural.
A man, tall and large, lives within these confines.
Quick to anger, slow to reason, his intelligence is low.
A role he is given to shape minds and stuff them of knowledge.
Knowledge he said, scoff I said.
If you cannot think on your own,
how can you teach others to do the same?
If there was a rainbow
connected the worlds between you and me
Even though nothing was happening
I could not help myself from smiling
because I was thinking about you
You were not that kind of magnificent beauty
you were just a quiet rainbow that emerges peacefully after a rain
but beautiful enough to reflect endlessly in my heart
If there was a rainbow
stretched the distance between you and me
I would run towards the end
to embrace the shadow of your light
and meet you who was running towards me at the same time
Walking along on a cloudy day,
What I did I could not say.
Down the grey rain slicked road.
What’s the point? I do not know.
After you pass the large white ring.
You wonder what it all means.
Next the court and a little hill.
The walk gives your brain time to mill.
Too much time, at least it seems.
My mind thinks of all the stupid things.
The cat runs and chases the little mouse.
It stalks, leaps, and claws at it.
It does this not just out of hunger but also for fun.
Finally the hunt is over it sinks its fangs into its prize.
All is not well however.
The mouse had been poisoned by some naughty human contraption.
Too late for the cat, so graceful during the hunt.
So pathetic in death.
Looking back the mouse was tainted too sickly, too slow.
The cat should have known.
The cat did not and thus became a pawn in the game of life.
I wrote a poem
and left a blank page for thee
I started from the very beginning
that portrays the excitement of me
holding you carefully
you were tiny and clean
With the cycle of seasons
I watch thee
from walking to running
from talking to learning
from failure to success
Then I wrote about us
I sat down
recalling all the moments
when the curiosity emerged from your eyes
when the impatience began to expand
But I still felt content
to see your growth
I wrote a poem
consisted of all the details
you ignored easily
Therefore
I left this blank page
it also said something
In my summer camp, we had a program called the ASIT program. ASIT stands for “Assistant Specialist in Training,” and they’re basically advanced campers that are between campers and counselors.
Many campers become ASITs, but just as many, perhaps more, don’t get the sacred letter. ASITs get to dig a little deeper into the camp; doing the behind-the-scenes work such as cleaning pastures and and taking care of new and baby animals. They are almost the equivalent to “student leaders,” or “prefects,” for any dormers out there.
There are three things you can do to increase your chances of being an ASIT. First is join the ASIT for a Day class, which is an hour of trust-building games and another hour of showing us the jobs of an ASIT. Meaning we have to clean a large enclosure, such as the barn or Lemur Island.
The second thing to do is to write a letter to Lori, one of our camp directors, about what you could bring to the ASIT program. It’s similar to a college application letter, in which you have to sell yourself fully. The third thing is to get a letter of recommendation from one of your counselors, which is something campers generally can’t control.
Hanging by our cafeteria are about two dozen hammocks of various shapes and sizes. After lunch my cabin sits in the hammocks and we wait for Free Time to start. I usually write in my journal during that time.
He had dark, curly hair, stocky body, olive-colored cap, light blue shirt, and was comfortably writing in a large, colorful book. He was an ASIT, and was sitting a little in front and to the right of me. The fact that he was also writing, I think poetry, caught my eye.
At the end of the session, he got up on stage during Skit Night and told us how he mucked out the Back Pastures for four hours. Then he grabbed a rake and started singing.
More than a dozen emus reside in the Back Pastures, and emus tend to make a peculiar drum-sounding sound deep in their chests. In the middle of the ASIT’s songs, he struck a pose, pointed in the direction of the Back Pastures, and declared “Emu Drum Solo!” He held that pose for about 30 seconds.
Every time we would try to laugh he would shush us harshly. He even started over once because he was so determined to perform the song perfectly “Four hours!” he yelled at us, “I was out there for four hours!”
Trekking in the early morning, on a cracked road.
My feet do not step, but drag.
They are busy, hurrying to and from the mundane.
Isolated they step and dart through the mid-morning traffic.
And the people they talk, laugh, and cry.
Where they go, they do not care.
People do not realize what a mundane system it is.
You drive to a destination and get out.
For what?
To stare, to think, to buy, and to wonder
what is the point of it all?
The chariot rode throughout the sacred city.
It hoped for the defaulted nation’s pity.
Weapon in hand and courage in tow.
Intentions, one does not know.
Doesn’t matter in the end.
Soon enough the violence begins.
Citizens were not suspected of such crimes.
Now is the end of those times.
One was dead and the rest were hurt.
The nation has not seen the worst.
A child remained sill alive.
His mind was rotted from the inside.
Once again the circle spins.
The nation will go through it again.
We all used to crawl into the ground,
Long before civilization was around.
Then came a bolt or burning stick,
Melted flesh would make one sick.
Through pain there is joy,
We unlocked nature’s burning toy.
Cooking of prey became the norm.
Raw flesh became a thorn,
In the side of a healthy life.
Why did we cause our own strife?
A simple way to live is what we had,
We evolved and now society is glad.
For what?
To work, and stress and to make our mark.
I would say our society still lives in the dark.
The bee buzzes, flying in the afternoon sun.
They came, not from the sky but from a hive.
It was a hive of distrust and betrayal.
Buzzing and dancing the bees fled from a dying land.
They fly, oblivious to the pain they cause.
While responsible for life their stingers,
can cause death.
They swarm as a group, attacking any outsiders.
Their loyalty lies with the group.
Those who wish to become one of them,
simply cannot.
Their method of communication makes all attempts at diplomacy fail.
When aggravated they valiantly go to their deaths, not for the individual but for the sake of the swarm.
Such and enemy will never be stopped
only delayed.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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