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Empyrean Hawthorne High School

Literary Magazine

2013-2014

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Creative Writing Club Members

Jessica Bryan

Nicole Crilly

Fausto Dominguez,

Ruqaiyah ElSaawy

Alli Getchell

Amira Helwani,

Ashley Hidalgo

Chris Hulmes,

Amanda Kearney,

Shayla Lugo

Danielle Maggiore

Nina Nadirashvili,

Enard Pani

Julian Parra

Abby Provencher

Frances Rodrigues

Justin Rodrigues

Phillip Rodrigues

Kaylee Seiders

Natalie Tousignant

Evan Voss

DavidZheng

The Empyrean 2013-2014

Illustrations by Art Club Members

Haley Cimillo

Alice Graziano

Nicole VanderWerf

Ryan Zawojski

Creative Writing Club Advisor: Theresa DiGeronimo

Art Club Advisor: Danielle Russo

Cover Photography: Alexa Dichio

Production Design and Layout: Ruqaiyah ElSaawy

All photographs from Creative Commons labeled for non

-commercial reuse

Empyrean: Among the

ancients, the sphere of pure light or fire.

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Table of Contents

The Shadow

Amira Helwani 4

The Protector

Amira Helwani 5

Obsessions, Compulsions, Disorders

Ruqaiyah ElSaawy 6

Storm

Ashley Hidalgo 7

A Prayer

Danielle Maggiore 8

Brother

Danielle Maggiore 9

Triangular Orbit

Danielle Maggiore 10

Same Steep Mountain

Julian Parra 11

Stress

Julian Parra 12

The Guidelines of Art

Abby Provencher 14

World with No Bees

David Zheng 16

Drowning in Distance

Natalie Tousignant 21

When It Rains

Amanda Kearney 22

Unsung

Nina Nadirashvili 23

A Soldier, a Girl and Silence

Nina Nadirashvili 24

Looking For A Friend

Phillip Rodrigues 28

Liberty and Sorrow for All

Justin Rodrigues 29

Acknowledgements 31

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The Shadow Amira Helwani

“He watches me. Anywhere I go he is always there. I can’t hide from him. He stalks my every move.” I quivered at the thought of the shadow that haunts me. “And how long has this man been watching you?” my shrink continued to question me, although I know she doesn’t believe me. This is the third therapist I’ve seen in the last three years. No one believes me. They all think I’m crazy. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. “It’s been about five years now.” “I see, and has he ever harmed you in anyway,” she continued on, pretending to care. “No, he just stands over me and watches.” I didn’t feel his cold soul surrounding me so I began to relax. “Is he here now?”

I took a deep breath before answering. “Yes. He is here somewhere. He’s not in this room, but he’s in the building. He never goes too far away. He’s listening though. He’s always listen-ing.” “Does he ever try to talk to you?” She was so emotionless that she could be mistaken for a robot. “NO! He JUST watches me!” I was getting annoyed at her lack of attention. “Look I know this is just your job, so I don’t expect you to care about me, but at least listen so I don’t have to repeat myself for the next hour.” “All right, I’m sorry. How about we talk of something else?” My strong words shook her a bit, but she quickly composed herself. “So how’s everything at home? Does your mother treat you all right?” “What does any of this have to do with my mother? Look, there is a man that stalks my every move. The only flaw that my mother has is her disbelief. She doesn’t believe me. You don’t believe me. No one believes me. My father would though. He always believed me.” “All right let’s talk about your father then,” she said, beginning to show interest when I mentioned my father. My mother must’ve told her something about the situation because I nev-er mentioned my father before. “My father died five years ago. He loved me more than anyone else did. Are we done yet? Can I go now? You’re obviously not going to help me. No one can.” I got up from the plush couch that I had been laying down on and began to walk toward the door. “Wait! Molly I just have a few more questions. Your mother paid for a full session. We only have another 20 minutes together. Will you stay?” She succeeded in bringing me back.

As soon as I made myself comfortable on the couch she continued to interro-gate me. “Do you know who this man is?” she asked without a hint of compassion in her voice. “…He’s back.”

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The Protector Amira Helwani

“He watches me. Everywhere I go he is always there. I can’t hide from him. He stalks my every move.” She was shaking now. “She’s only a young girl. It’s not right. She doesn’t deserve to be going through this. I promised to protect her, but I’m failing her. How can I protect her from her imagina-

tion?”

She continued her conversation with the woman. I couldn’t bear to hear Molly describe her pain any longer, so I left the room. I roamed the halls of the facility for a while before I decided to go check up on her moth-

er.

“I… I just don’t know what to do anymore,” she said, crying. “She hasn’t been the same since her father’s death five years ago. That’s when she

started talking about the man that watched her.”

I tried to comfort Molly, I tried to protect her but I can’t protect her from herself. I want to believe her. I really do, but it’s just so farfetched. I

wish I could defend her. I don’t like to see her upset.

“Does she still cry every night,” the service worker questioned Molly’s

mother. He took on Molly’s case about three years ago.

“He’s not actively following it anymore, but occasionally he checks up

on her and comforts her mother during therapy sessions.”

“Not as much as she used to, but she hasn’t been sleeping much any-

more. She barely eats and she never smiles,” Molly said, getting more upset.

The only thing left for me to do is stand by her side and help her get through this dark period of her life. Poor Molly. I then made my way back

to the therapist’s office. I stood by the door until the session was over.

“I love you Molly,” I whispered to myself.

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Obsessions, Compulsions, Disorders Obsessions, Compulsions, Disorders Obsessions, Compulsions, Disorders

Ruqaiyah ElSaawy

Trapped and bound, Chains all ‘round, I’m breaking down.

The world’s tense, Nothing makes sense,

All a pretense.

These obsessions emerge, They constantly surge, I can never be free.

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Storm

Ashley Hidalgo

The howling of the wind,

The flashing in the sky,

The pounding rain on a little girls’ window.

She clutches her teddy, restless in her bed.

Praying it will all go away as she screams, “Daddy?!”

The storm continues.

It only gets worse.

The little girl is sobbing, screaming for her daddy.

With the howling of the wind,

The flashing in the sky,

And the pounding rain on the little girls’ window,

That is what she feels inside.

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A Prayer

Danielle Maggiore

this is strange.

i haven’t talked to you in a while.

i’m sorry about that.

it’s okay, my child.

i forgive you.

i really wish we talked more.

if i could, i would go back and change it.

don’t worry about the past.

just focus on the present.

i don’t mean to be awkward,

but would you mind holding me,

just for a while?

i’ve been waiting, child,

with open arms.

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Brother

Danielle Maggiore

We’ve never really been close,

And we fought over stupid things.

I acted like I was happy about you leaving,

But I really wanted you to stay.

When you went overseas,

Mom would pray for you at dinner every night,

And I would pray for you before I went to bed.

I thought about you every day,

Hoping you were all right,

And wondering if you thought about me, too.

We didn’t hear from you for weeks,

And we started to worry.

Then we got the letter.

Mom cried for the first time in years,

And I knew what it said without having to read it.

The worst part is,

I never got to tell you I miss you.

Or that I am proud of you.

Or that I love you.

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Triangular Orbit: A Very Short Story

Danielle Maggiore

nce, a long time ago, the Earth and the Sun were lovers. However, both being female, they could not conceive any children. Knowing this, the Earth went to the Sun’s brother, the Moon, for help. What the Earth did not know was that the Moon was secretly in love with her, and was con-

stantly trying to split her and her lover apart. He said he would father the children, and then his sister would adopt them as her own. When the Sun found out about this, she grew angry at her brother and her lover, vowing never to speak to either of them ever again. This is why the Moon follows the one he loves, the Earth, throughout the universe, and why the Earth is always following her former lover, the Sun.

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Same Steep Mountain

Julian Parra

The same steep Mountain stood in the same vicinity,

It’s steepness causing the failure of the ones who hike and ski.

Each step one takes is a continuous struggle up the constant slope,

But although there may be holes along the way,

Every inch you progress gives you a certain amount of faith and hope.

Once you arrive at your destination at the top of the mountain, you start to pray,

Because of the strength that you needed was given to you by a supernatural power,

And just when you were about to give up, your thoughts had already begun to sour.

Knowing your constant struggles led you to the steepest parts of the Mountain,

And realizing that you have advanced much farther than you had expected,

All of a sudden, water ran out of the fountain,-

And consecutively the trust in the supernatural power that you respected,

Has fallen much farther down the layers of rock beneath the mountain.

However, you start to remember to look to the light of the sun,

And you see the supernatural power’s works have just begun.

Its majesty that you have recently shunned

Has been there for you all along,

And so, it leads you away

From the roads of wrong.

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Stress Julian Parra

Stress, the response in your body that makes you a mess.

You would sense a threat

When standards haven’t been met.

Yet, your heart pounds fast

Knowing you may end up last.

Unable to stay still,

You realize you can’t pay your bill.

You feel the same aches and the pain

That brings you to memory lane.

Plus when you procrastinate,

Your body accelerates.

So many things are due,

You do not know what to do.

When things don’t go your own way,

You shift away from your own say.

Although you may lose your temper,

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Just remember,

You are a contender

From January till December.

The anger that builds inside

Is insignificant, but that’s implied.

Besides, it interferes with the mind.

But you aren’t alone- it affects all of mankind.

Even though the workload is high,

You will survive.

Go for a run, read a book,

Breathe in and out and take a look.

The sun is still shining,

And this poem is still rhyming.

When your body takes over you,

There is something you should do.

Forget Stress.

It's for the best.

It’s the response in your body that you can suppress.

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“The Guidelines of Art” Abby Provencher

Art

Is not about doing what others can’t

It is about doing what others didn’t

Portraits in museums with nothing but a red dot or a blue square

“I could’ve done that” a spectator will say

But you didn’t

Anyone could have written a story

About a mouse eating a cook-ie

About an old man fishing

But they didn’t

Words are so often restrained

by genres

categories

rules

Think of all that has been withheld

All that has been rewritten

Just to meet a requirement

Just to fit a rhyme

And maybe some can

Maybe some have their thoughts in phrases and rhymes

And they’ve tied words together millions of times

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But what if someone can’t?

And what if someone wants to write here

But is told to stay here

Aren’t the greats the ones who simply create?

With no respect or regard to guidelines

Just their thoughts

their words

their stories

their Artwork

A window can be a window

or a pathway to the soul

Art can be an escape

Or a reflection of what is

What they see in their minds

What they choose

to put on the paper

to share with the world

And maybe you will say

That this is not a poem

Or a story

Or really anything

But that does not matter

Because the point is that you did not create this

I did.

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A World with No Bees

By: David Zheng

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Journal entry 45:

Dr. Benson's study of Earth's magnetic field seems to have become a new project

entirely. It's been weeks now, and we have not obtained a substantial amount of

data from our research. Nothing has changed, at least anything that we know of

yet, but even still, Dr. Benson continues to be absorbed in his study. However, he

is not interested in the Earth's magnetic field at the moment but, instead, in a

completely different subject all together. He is studying a tiny organism of insect

from the family called Anthophila, better known as bees. Benson has now sur-

rounded himself with large amounts of information on the creature. I am curious

to find out his reasons for his interest in the subject, but he continues to answer

me by saying that bees have a connection to Earth’s magnetic field. I have re-

minded him numerous times that our research must be done with haste and that

our time is limited. Our government funding is soon coming to an end, and we

still have not discovered the changes in the magnetic field. So far, all we know is

that the continents are moving at a faster rate than before. The usual rate of 2

centimeters per year (or 0.005 centimeters each day) has now changed to 6 centi-

meters per year or (0.016 centimeters per day). In just less than three months, the

continent's drifting speed has increased by 300 percent. That amount of increase

seems incredibly abnormal. In the past three months there are no records of earth-

quakes, hurricanes, or tsunami storms that reached a scale high enough to affect

the continental drift. There has to be something else that is affecting this drift. I

just hope that Dr. Benson can figure it out before our time here runs out.

-George R.

“Dr. Benson!” George yelled as he banged his first on the

door. "It's me George! Dr. Benson! Are you in there?" The metal

knob on the door began to turn. Creek. The rusty door opened

and revealed a man around the age of 50 to 60 with thick glass-

es and gray hair. He wore a white lab coat, a lab mask, and a

pair of latex gloves.

"George, you are late. Come inside quickly or you'll let

the cold air escape."

George went inside the room, which was a containment box.

The box acted like a sterilized refrigerator to keep chemicals,

equipment, and variables from being contaminated.

"Doctor, what is all of this?" George asked while looking

around the room. Shelves were packed with jars that contained

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various unknown items.

"What are you doing, Dr. Benson?" "George, we have been looking at the Earth’s magnetic field

all wrong. The continental drift's increase isn't just because of what has been happening inside Earth's crust or the polar magnetic fields. The catalyst that sped up Earth's continental drift by 300 percent is caused by us, humans."

"What do you mean? How could humans have caused an increase in continental drift?"

"Bees, George. The cause of our problem is bees!” Dr. Ben-son said, a bit dramatically.

"Bees? What about them? The insect has been extinct for over 50 years." Dr. Benson looked at his files. The folder revealed numer-ous pictures and research of different bees of the same spe-cies.

"George. We killed the bees. We killed a large branch of a species, a species that reproduces by the billions every second all around the world. How is that possible? How could we have annihilated something that can reproduce faster than bacteria can multiply? If we leave one bacterium alone for seven hours it would reproduce to over 2 million bacteria. Bees reproduce faster than that. During the last century, humans have put tox-ins and pesticides all around their houses, farms, or anywhere that has insects. The chemical in these toxins is called Grade K insecticide. This chemical doesn't immediately kill the in-sect, instead gives it a deadly disease. Any contact with the insect spreads the disease. Grade K insecticide is deadly to insects but has no effect on humans. The diseased insects spread the toxin within their colony.”

"That sounds horrible." George said. "Yes it is. But it seems that the disease affected bees

the worst. Many hive colonies were wiped out. Natural honey products declined. Many plants were not able to be pollinated and died. Herbivore animals died with less plant food and so then the carnivore population began to decline as well."

"Then why didn't humans manually pollinate these plants?" George asked.

"Because it is impossible to manually pollinate as many

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plants as the bees can. Humans at the time did try, but it was useless. The decline of plant life was too fast," he explained.

"But what do bees have to do with continental drift?" George asked.

“Bees have everything to do with the continental drift!” Dr. Benson said excitedly. “ Bees are a major component in the patterns of nature.”

“But they are all dead.” George replied. His eyes widened as he realized where this was all going.

“Yes,” Dr. Benson said. “Therefore, if a major component in the patterns of nature becomes destroyed-”

"The rest of nature becomes distorted or ruptured,” George said, finishing the thought. “But I still do not understand the connection to the increase of the continental drift.” “If the patterns in nature are disrupted, then the re-sources necessary for human survival will be affected. Because of the decrease of plants and animals, governments around the world created a project for artificial animals and plants for their resources.” “Artificial?” George asked. “But how can they create a vast amount of artificial resources? Isn’t a large energy source needed to create and manufacture these products?” “Yes. In fact, it’s the need for a large energy source that caused the continental drift. The energy source that is used is located in the Pacific Ocean right about here, there, and all over here,” Dr. Benson said, pointing to different locations on the map. “What about the DNA needed for replication of these organ-isms? Do they obtain them from these animals?”

Dr. Benson snorted. “Nothing our government has been doing is legal. They are creating the reactants and other ingredients from elements found on the periodic table. This energy source located in the core of our planet is used to create any other ingredients needed for product. All the reactants are natural elements, while the needed reactants are artificially made from the energy source. They are ignoring the law of conservation by actually creating matter.” “And this is causing the continental drift?” George asked. “You are familiar with Pangaea? The time when the world’s

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continents were connected? Well, the continents are being sucked in together by a vortex. They will connect in the Pacif-ic Ocean. If this happens, the collision will cause a drastic amount of damage throughout the world. This vortex is caused by the energy source used by governments all around the world. And to stop this...we—you and I—will recreate a bee.” “A bee?!” George exclaimed. “How can we do that? We have no bee DNA. Bees have been instinct for over 50 years. It’s not possible.” “George. An organism is nothing more than a combination of elements—elements like carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, cal-cium, iron, magnesium, copper, zinc, and trace amounts of sev-eral other elements. If we can get the right ingredients—if we can find the right amount of each element—we can create a bee.” “Even if we are able to create bees—which is close to im-possible, there wouldn’t be enough time for them to have an ef-fect on the world.” “What do you mean?” Dr. Benson asked. “We still have mil-lions of years before the continents collide.” “No, Dr. Benson. I checked today. Earth’s usual surface range of 25 to 65 micro tesla has now decreased to 23 to 60 mi-cro tesla. The change of the continental drift has increase yet again from 0.016 centimeters to 3 inches per day; it seems that the pattern of the drift will increase and soon become feet and then miles.” Dr. Benson looked at the computer monitor to confirm George’s statement. “From what I see here, no...” Dr. Benson trailed off. “We have less than two weeks before the continents finally col-lide.” “We can’t create a bee in less than two weeks, and even if we do it won’t save us,” George said. “Unless...” Dr. Benson said. “Unless what?” “Unless we can stall the drift. We need to create something that will cause a shock wave to push the continents apart to give us time.” “What are you saying Dr. Benson?” “We need to create the world’s largest tsunami in less than two weeks.”

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Drowning in Distance

Natalie Tousignant

There are nights when still, even after months, I’m struck by your absence.

All of a sudden, I’m hit, I’m crippled, I’m weakened.

Something washes over me, and I’m overtaken.

I am a small boat trapped in a belittling storm,

And the waves of your vacancy pummel me.

I’m swimming, I’m submerged, I’m drowning.

But you can’t rescue me.

There are nights when still, even after months, I beg Sleep to come to me.

To conquer me, control me, direct me.

And carry my thoughts far from this empty space beside me.

I am a sail, billowing in the roughness of the wind,

Changing direction with each gust of your absence.

I’m submissive, I’m weightless, I’m transparent.

And you can’t reach me.

You’re not close enough.

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When It Rains

Amanda Kearney

We never really talked

Even from the start

But now I realized

I’ve broken your heart

I’m sorry for the pain

That I have caused you

But when I hear the rain

I always think of you

It was raining when you left

And I still cannot bear

Thinking that you

Never really cared

When I started to think

You were careless about me

When you picked me up this week

It got me wanting to say sorry

I’m sorry for being mean

When I didn’t know the truth

I should have seen

The trying father coming through

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Unsung Nina Nadirashvili

Somewhere in the deepest shadows of the night where angels leave and demons stay

Where there's no need for good and evil's fight That's where all the 'great' dictators lay.

Nowhere on the longest road to hell Where only feet and burden carry souls

Where all is still since silence fell Walk all the rulers gone against the heaven's rules

Elsewhere at the hour of the gray noon Where time is stuck and doesn't budge

Where sun never gives way to silver moon Wait all the pharaohs who thought themselves too large

Nowhere on a grassless piece of land Where there's no wind and air is stuck

Where mended break and broken never mend Sit the destroyers who thought they had good luck

Somewhere in the blue and cloudless sky Where a mighty raven flies with a single wing

Where light is all and darkness doesn't try All of those unsung heroes come to sing.

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A Soldier, a Girl and Silence

Nina Nadirashvili

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Long after King Sharul’s reign over the city, the earth split in half, destroy-

ing the houses and towns we worked so hard to build. We clung to the walls of the

dome like the helpless animals that we had become. From the depth of the crack

in the earth, a mountain rose. We tried to ask for help, and we tried to ask for for-

giveness, but not one shared another’s language and God had long since gone

deaf.

Maryan plunged into the abyss that awaited the masses first. Her face

looked similar to an ancient painting by Edvard Munch, which had been destroyed

along with the rest of the Bare World. There was a moment, after hours or seconds

or centuries of people screaming, that we met the silence toe to toe. It was calm,

and we were breathless; it was stoic, and we were shaking, like the houses on the

dome’s outer edge during the yearly doomsday. I welcomed the silence, and he did

not. And so our never-ending friendship began.

Luqa was a restless soul. He did not speak to me, nor I to him. I sat at the

top of the mountain that had risen from the trench, and he walked back and forth

and back and forth until he almost slipped, and then he stopped. He was attrac-

tive, if you could give that title to a Symprarian; he even appeared sweet, but his

hands had wrung thousands of throats and had closed millions of eyes. He was a

soldier, and I was just a girl. And so, at first I felt obliged to be scared, terrified,

panicked, but, with not a third soul in the world, obligations were easily stripped

away. What was left was us.

As the dome began to darken, I got my softcover dictionary from the folds of

my tenfold clothing. Every child in the Torwan society had been taught to choose

an object that he or she would take to the grave, and I thought myself smart when

I picked Translator of All Languages. Then again, it was nice to know I was carry-

ing the last book in the entire universe, unless the people that had left millenni-

ums ago had really reached Pluto. They had fled like children before bedtime, try-

ing to hide from Mother Nature that was planning to put them to sleep. And so I

laid my head on the book and fell to sleep almost hoping that Luqa might find a

way to kill me while I was dreaming of a house, a land, a sky without the electric

colors, and ladders that one could actually climb.

He spoke to me for the first time on the fifty-seventh day following the apoc-

alypse, and I flipped through the pages of the book to find the meaning in his

words. Inside, I felt my body come to life; my ears knew sound, and my hands

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knew motion. My eyes knew words, and my nose knew the smell of the withered

dictionary. Finally, my brain figured the words my ears had heard, and my mouth

knew freedom when it answered back. He had said that he had about 94 days, and

I assured him I had less. I lied. If the past had taught the ancients anything, it

was the fact that humans needed a way to survive without food or water for a pe-

riod of time. An old magician and a new electrician with a middle-aged biologist

got together and programmed every new child to carry an ability of holding on for

a period of time without basic resources. It was a cruel thing to do, without this

programming we might have had joined our loved ones 56 days ago.

I laughed at him on the sixty-third day following the apocalypse. He had

slipped again while pacing back and forth and back and forth. His face landed

straight in the snow, and he looked like the old three-part creature that ancients

used to build on Christmas. There were no special days inside of the dome, only

those when there was peace and when there was chaos. I laughed, and my com-

panion silence left me, but he would return again. Luqa did not share the sound,

but his eyes lit up, and I could tell he liked when his ears were put to use.

He cried for me on the sixty-ninth day following the apocalypse, when my

pinkie froze, split in half and fell down into the emptiness to find Maryan. I shed a

couple tears, but he went to the extreme. He skipped through the usual steps and

just started crying with no sniffing or coughing before it. He just yelled and

screamed and used his eyes, and I was afraid that the tears might freeze on his

cheeks and ruin his still somewhat-attractive complexion. And they did. Freeze,

that is. One on his chin, right below the little dot that all Symprarians bore. And

one on his neck, down at the very bottom, almost in the hollow made by his collar-

bones. But it made him even more appealing, a soldier with tears… why did not

Munch think to paint a picture of a soldier with tears frozen on his skin? He must

have known a summer.

I kissed him on the seventy-seventh day following the apocalypse. He tasted

like nothing at all. He tasted like dryness and cold and winter and mountains and

wind and clouds and nothing at all. He kissed me back, and I am positive I tasted

all the same. His tear tickled my neck and my tenfold clothing made him a little

warmer. Inside, my soul came alive. It knew motion, and it knew selflessness. I al-

most slipped once I pulled away for the fabricated air. Almost is a wonderful word.

He lost his hair on the ninety-eighth day following the apocalypse. He looked

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horrid. He looked old, and he looked like a soldier losing a battle. His eyes were

sunken, and his skin had a bluish hue, and his cheeks were almost nonexistent.

Two of my remaining fingers held his murderous hand, and it did not look lovely.

It did not look romantic. It looked broken and done and gone, but never lost. He

looked weathered, and I looked at him with love.

I think he said he loved me on the one hundred-and-thirteenth day following

the apocalypse. I am not sure. My ears had never felt more useless, and my eyes

could not quite make out what shapes his mouth was forming. I had no energy to

open the dictionary lodged between the third and the fourth fold of my clothing. I

nodded, feeling the pain in my neck, and that was it.

He died on the one hundred-and-fifty-third day following the apocalypse. I

had lost sight, and I had lost hearing, but I could feel him gone, no longer sitting

next to me at the top of the mountain that had risen from the trench. I thought

about finally falling, slipping from the edge, but I had no energy and no ambition.

And so I welcomed the silence once more.

Life is worth more than anything in this world, one shall die when the time

comes. I will die when the time comes. Exactly on the one- hundred-and -eighty-

eighth day following the apocalypse.

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Looking For A Friend Phillip Rodrigues

Long sleeves, dark clothes trying to hide

All alone in the dark streets

Rain pounds

The hooded figure runs and runs

Looking for a friend

Musty air, a tinge of humid

A damp breeze blows about

Chilling to the very soul

Looking for a friend

The hooded figure runs and runs

Rain pounding

Lightning flashes

Running and running

Feet pounding

Water splashes

Lost alone in the dark streets

All alone in the dark streets

Rain pounds

Lightning flashes

The hooded figure runs and runs

Looking for a friend

A friend long lost

And somehow gone

Never found

The hooded figure runs and runs

Looking for a friend

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Liberty and Sorrow for All Justin Rodrigues

A lone soldier braces his flag

He slowly wipes his battle-scarred tears with his rag

As he wipes those tears

Oh that is the moment when he remembers his fellow soldiers

Like boulders of savory and bravery

As the lone soldier leads his gut to salvaging what all the memories he’s still got

But he still has many fond memories of his peaceful homeland

Homeland of the Light

The brightest of all

If not compared to the appall and its fall

For here lies the Darkest of darks

So dark like the Dark of a dead tree bark

Now his flag shines red, white, and blue

For now he triumphs as his enemies lose

For now the only flag standing is the one of New Born America

For now his nation has gained liberty of the horrid English Monarch

But all the kings’ horses and all the kings’ men were to fight the lone soldier again

As both sides clashed drops of blood and salt like tears were shed

At that moment the soldier and the king remembered

They were from the same mother

And Brothers

They vow for peace

A short period of peace occurs

Both departing the scene of dismay they whispered farewell

As they tried to forget what was not well

But in the end the worst did not come first

There were many more fights to come

So wretched like a flea bites

And one was to be for African American rights.

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The Creative Writers of 2013-2014

31

ACKNOWLDEGEMENTS

We would like to give a note of special thanks to the following people who gave

their time and support to help The Empyrean become a reality:

Mr. Barry Cohen and the entire administration for their continued support.

Ms. Russo and the Art Club for their artistic contributions.

Ruqaiyah ElSaawy for her hard work on the production end of this magazine.

Bill Skees of Well Read Bookstore for hosting our launch party.

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The Empyrean

Copyright 2014

Hawthorne High School

Hawthorne, NJ 07506