2014 HNHS School Magazine | Page 50

The House of War This wasn’t supposed to be my fate Just another pile of rubble I tried to keep all the life inside But the enemy caused too much trouble In the night My wooden walls fell to the ground When the hefty bombs collided I knew I didn’t really have a choice, My destiny had been decided The sky lit up by the stars, Too far away we feel no warmth. The blanket of darkness suffocates our eyes. The sounds of the night awaken our ears. These heavy gleaming balls of death Came from all directions Spreading evil throughout the sky A million horrible infections The wind calls out to the trees, The branches shake and the leaves come alive, Dancing and twirling, Until the thunder sounds. Now the enemy has won the war And wiped out all of my kind I hope they’re really happy now for hatred is all they’ll find I become awake to see the stars now hiding with fear behind the clouds, The trees frozen with fear, Then a fork of lightning strikes the earth, And the fear becomes mine. Anna Mason Kiara Anderson Orphan In one door and out the other, in only a matter of days. Tossed about and swept off my feet, shoved tightly into a cage. My soul bellows behind my ears, screaming for me to break loose. From path to path, I walk the distance, to get to my destination. Wanting to model my mother’s image, unsure of what street to cross. Travelling the lonesome town, feeling lost at every turn. Thrown into a car, every time I’m feeling down. Rushed from city to city, No clue which part is true. I’ve heard plenty of promises, but they all sound the same. If I push hard enough, they all prove to be empty. Logan Pollock Win ter Peom Without a warning, Winter arrives. It smothers the morning grass, With a soft blanket of dew. It fills the sky with dusky clouds, that block what the sun has to offer. Gloomy trees form opaque shapes, below the pale sun, and the wind howling like a miserable wolf, brushes against my numb cheeks. Everything stands as still as a statue except for the breeze which rustles my hair to the unsteady rhythm as it blows. Day by day, winter sails by. And without warning It’s gone. Emily Young