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April Poetry

In honor of April, National Poetry Month!

Thank you to everyone who submitted!


Living in the World Today

By Patrick Cao

The year is 2020, and my vision ain’t clear

No prescription can be prescribed as I describe 

How it is here in the current age

Of when the world couldn’t turn the page

In the world, you need money

To get honey and sweeten the fact

That your dreams have been beaten back

Into seams that no stitch can hold up

But try to cry into your gold cup

And you’ll flood the floor

Until the air is no more.

And for what reason?

Whatever you do is treason

It’s a fall, no matter the season

And you can’t even spring up

Unless you bring up

The climate but not global

That makes things too mobile

Instead, you argue “who knew?”

Team red or team blue?

And that’s their cue

You don’t realize that the red from black and white fights

Turns their green into delight but despite 

That you still follow the news

Where affirmation killed information and made its dues

The fear, the terror, the virus

Doesn’t let you tear the mirror and see the hi-res

But by my guess, the media can hide this

Since people don’t want the high stress

They want a screen for entertainment 

And to never ask where their brain went 

Fiction will be their new addiction

In addition to valediction 

Of virtual appreciation

From across a severed nation

That was once united

Until division was invited

By the few that annihilate

Those who can’t detonate


What It Means to Die

By Patrick Cao

I walk this Earth like everyone else

I am no different

I will fight for my name

I will suffer for my love

I will starve for my hunger

I will dance for my song

I will live for my life

None of that will change

My body will clench

My mind will question

My heart will beat

My eyes will fail

My soul will ache

None of that will change

But as much as I value the steps I’ve taken

They mean nothing if there is no grass following them


Odyssey of the Mind

By Curtis Gaines III

Let’s take a voyage to the odyssey of the mind

A place free of judgement 

Where souls reconnect to the source

Tapping into existential gains 

That mankind inhibited 

Generations prior

Maybe I won’t find the answer 

I might be a fool for even trying

But there’s an untapped realm that’s out there

Perhaps the destination is the journey

Maybe the path is set and I’m just blinded by my own insecurities 

But one thing is certain

For every step I take

The fog starts to fade

If no one else can relate,

I have faith that I’m not crazy 

That when it’s all said and done

I’ll find that peace and clarity that I strive for

Until then

Your time will come king 

Keep your eyes open

Stay grinding

Until the clock stops timing




The smallest hint of a smile tends to creep up on your face as you make glances over your shoulder.

Where did your auburn locks go? The small ringlets that adorned your crown have been snatched away, stripping you of your youthful essence.

How is loss so hard? What makes us be so fully and entirely effected by the thought of loss. When people lose touch with someone, why do some continue to be affected by them?

When someone is so far from us physically, why do they continue to feel as though we are an inch apart, words missing (at an absence in the presence if my bleeding heart.) Your words are sacrificed for the comfortability of your unwavering silence. If only you had words for me as you do for your daily annoyances.

Some days, I wish to be one of your annoyances. Then maybe through your bickering, I would find the closure I’ve been refused to be granted from the beginning.


Sands of the Land

by Ignacio Leon

Shoved forward to see

Light that fills the sea

Along the ridge exists a bridge

Where many save for a few

Are able yet incapable to cross

On the other, expect to gain a loss

Born from the sands of the land

Are the bones of mammals dearly departed

Those who attempted to cross but ended up lost

Scared to press forward, worried that she could

She knew it was needed, to be done

For it to finally be over

Black and burned, she slowly crossed over

She thought of all the broken …

Those jabbed with the pitchforks

And slowly rolled over

To be had by the hand with the pentagram

She thought herself a Mary Magdalene

Gentle and kind, that now she could

Slowly coming close, almost…

 …there we go!

Now came into question of what she should —

Panicked and afraid, the months went on

On and on the cement crept in

The weight of the world could be felt upon

Her shoulders could no longer

Those odds, that one in five

“Oh, why, oh, why?”

She wished she could die

Returning to the bridge

She reflected on what had past and on what could have been

Bubbling anger brewed in her head

Him and that bed

She waited to see, to see what could happen

If only changing digits could get her laughing

That–no one should feel, let alone imagine

The horrors of the night…of that night

Before she knew it, she took flight

Her only bed now were

The sands of the land



Unified Field

by Ignacio Leon

The prophet lay displaced

With disturbances of deep space

Collected are his memories

From which he makes decent living

Guessing which is his

From this he states:


“Bathe in oil, I am the perpetrator

That moistens my gears

‘Lather and repeat’, says my creator

This cycle is my hell

Endless, I fear”


Unable to shake the feeling that all has been made

The prophet panicked

Finicky yet picky

He shouted:


“Imagine shining fractured whispers

Processions they guide!

Without nature, I grew finer treasures

Chambered through an exit

I’d studied while the hour disguises itself”


Unable to grasp the reality

The stage began to shatter

Alone and unafraid

He clung desperately to his reality

Of death and transcendence


“When a storm blows over

The more they show

When the tide rises

The less I know”


His last thoughts preceded his last words

Words that have sent shivers down the spines

Of his enemies

As the curtain call fades

He whispered:


“Saying less is more”



By Lela Davis

The world that we once knew has shifted.

No longer do the labels matter and the status quo no longer defines us.

There’s no amount of money that can save the soul.

No amount of money can bring back the memories of what once was.

We are now forced to look inward.

Into the reflection that stares back at us.

So what does your mirror say?

Look closely…you know they say the eyes are the windows to the soul.

While the world is full of grief and fear there is still a light that flickers within all of us.

Within each breath we take, speak life.

In the end, when your book is written, what will your story say?

This is not the end, but only the beginning for many.


Hustle & Align

By Lela Davis

Early mornings and late nights. No one can ever see the tiredness in your eyes.

You make it look so good. How do you always shine?

Pushing others while staying on your grind but no one ever said it’s normal to be overworked.

Oh I forgot this is really misunderstood.

See when you have a vision, the tiredness turns into motivation.

Your plate is full but the goal is to eat right?

Although I will always respect the hustle let’s never forget to nurture the soul 

because when the nights are long and your eyes are tired the soul will be what it speaks

And that is what we call motivation.

Hustle & Align.

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