Page 28 - Horizon 16 Online

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HORIZON
Painter’s Strokes
Blank space, white walls, new, good, and pure,
The painter picks his brush.
Soft hairs are dipped into cold bright colors with care, The scent is an overwhelming addicting chemical rush.
The director drives his tool like a dreamy morning glory. Splish splat is the sound of thick milky pastels.
A smirk grows as the brush tells a story,
One that is innocent, bright, and swell.
As the work grows, the picture changes, Deeper tones create more meaning. Love is shared like good exchanges Truth is out weary, cool, and demeaning.
The creator swishes his utensils on the sandpaper wall harder. The strokes mix together in a murky mess,
A golden hue now barely a blur.
White walls now darkened, frozen, depressed.
The painter now steps back and looks at what he has done. The once masterpiece of glory was now not even worthy, The smell now not one of fun,
But one of nose cringing scurvy.
Before the end new bristles are added,
The paint so stark, it covers the dark.
White walls are anew, underneath still the saddened, The book begins again with lustrous spark.
Elizabeth Byram `16
Big Bang Concert
The air is tense, it’s hard to breathe.
The taste of adrenaline, pure and strong, forms on my tongue. My footsteps increase, matching the beat of the music, Thadump, thadump, the pounding of a drum.
The strobe lights are bright, my heart stutters with them,
The railing slick under clammy hands, my shaking legs unsteady. Bright lights scattering across the darkness, shrieks piercing my ears, Thump, thump, thump, the drum pounding harder.
The stars appear shining, so close yet so far,
The shrieks increase, my voice blending with them. Harmony and melody flowing perfectly to my soul, Thump, thump, thump, the drum is all I can hear.
The stars are gone, the adrenaline fading,
The area abandoned, vocal cords rubbed raw.
Tears are shed freely now, bittersweet with memories, The drum flatlines, the beat is gone.
Emily Reeves `16