When the world ends,
I will be sitting on a beach
Watching the tide come in
With my mother,
Sharing an ice cream sundae
With hot fudge.
I will be skipping
Across the ocean's current,
For the time at last.
Mother and I will remember
The good times
Look at old photo albums.
Cry for the
Time that will
Not be and dream of it
When the world ends.
By: Leia Hayhoe, Washington, D.C.
Bodies sprawled along the shelter's floor--
Like sloppy cursive writing
Like a herd of forgotten cattle we sit
Chewing on the cud of our precious memories
In my mind's eye I see you, Nate
Your silken hair which tumbled
And rustled in the wind--
Tendrils like beckoning fingers
Your eyes the color of pastures green
In which the good Lord made me down to lie
I remember the rough, linen texture of your worn jacket--
The sheet upon the luxurious bed
That was your shoulder
How poor is this tiled floor by comparison!
I lost you so many addictions ago
Now, on the floor of this pit
With nothing but hope to light my way,
I part the cloud of my sins
And spend the night
Ensconced in the warm embrace of your memory
By: Anna Sproul, Washington, D.C.