by Rosa Tansley-Beckerman (Image by Rosa Tansley-Beckerman)
I feel myself fall into the cold, crisp water.
The water relentlessly consumes my sun-kissed skin.
Gliding against the water,
Freedom sticks to me like the saturated hair on my back.
I feel free.
The sunlight hits the water's surface,
Like crystals dancing playfully.
A second home in this dried up world,
Making my worries translucent.
by Elijah Loveday
The dream, everyone has one but not many live it or even pursue it.
And there is only one thing powerful enough to get you to do it,
Love. It’s more than just a rational decision.
It’s a burning passion, a deep-rooted emotional attachment.
It’s the small things that stop you from pursuing your dreams.
My dream is skateboarding because we have no lanes and no rules.
So if you have one dream or wish, chase it and shame on those who call us fools.
There will always be those who can do more than you, you will never control the level of expertise of those around.
Only you can control how hard you work and make yourself into something profound.
It’s not about anyone around, it’s a battle with yourself.
How are you better than you were last week, last month, last year.
It’s not about doing the impossible, it's about breaking it down into something possible,
like balancing a coin on its side, one of the simplest forms of problem-solving, do it again, and again, enough times and soon enough you’ll be able to do it faster and faster. If you don’t have a deadline you have no excuse but to succeed remember the single most important thing to succeed is love. The dream, everyone has one but not everyone lives it or even pursues it but we will.
by Asha de Cuevas Perryman
The leather is warm,
Like the sun is bright,
The leaves are transparent,
Like an insect's wing,
The sun shines,
Illuminating the sleeping puppy,
The bird lands,
Observing our contentment,
The grass sways,
Liked by the breeze,
The waves brake,
The girl enters,
She sees no wings,
She wakes the pup,
She scares the bird,
She sees no grass,
She hears no waves,
She sits on the warm,
The warm leather,
She becomes bright,
Like the sun.
by Kaede Dean
At the steadfast churning of her stomach
The ancient trees bowed their heads to listen carefully in the darkness
Her fear was temporarily tangible in the dense forest air
Until sadness swiftly took its place
In her all-consuming sorrow she didn’t notice how sombre the forest was
How no birds sung or no insects littered the forest floor
Or how the frail trees whispered reticently to one another
As if they were afraid to break the thick, undying silence
She didn’t notice any of it
Until her white dress caught on the root of a tree
And ripped. And echoed deafeningly
Great pooling tears rolled down her porcelain face
And scattered down onto the forest floor
And as she wept in a curled up ball
A beauteous flower bloomed beneath her soft fingers
And as it unfurled, it quivered with glistening golden light
And as she halted in her weeping
She cradled the flower to her breast
And it chased the darkness out of the dysphoric forest
And filled it with an eternal light
by Sierra Nunn Wilson
The beautiful sun rays beaming of golden flowers, surrounded by luscious green trees,
the sky as blue as your nose on a shivering cold day,
as I sit and look out to the world,
I call my own,
I wonder why people fear this great unknown.
When I really look to see the world in my own eyes,
I see a beautiful mystical wonderland
in just the palm of my hand,
birds chirping as the hot glamorous sun rises
from the other side of the world,
shining light into our eyes as a new day yet to come.
I feel that the world gives new messages each
and every day,
and that right there is the only reason I stay awake,
for this planet is beautiful
I will treasure it forever,
for what this world does for us is rather very clever.
by Chia Barwick-Going
My paintbrush glides delicately across the page,
It takes my entire concentration to not spill the colour over the lines.
I paint what I see,
The slowly moving clouds, the tiny blue Ren, the vibrant paper daisy,
All I see floods onto my page with such precision,
This hand must not belong to me,
For I have always been clumsy and my hands would shake,
But today my hand is as steady as ever like the trunk of an old willow tree.