There isn't enough sidewalk for everyone

By: Maude Meeker

Everyday, people walk on me. Some of them walk fast, some take their time, and some are just wandering. I’m a common fixture in almost every part of the world, But the people who walk on me are anything but common. They have so many thoughts, so many plans, and so many goals. They dream big, reach for the clouds, but their heads so high in the sky, That they forget about me: the simple, cobble-stoned sidewalk beneath their feet. Their eyes are so busy turning up, to bigger and better things, that sometimes I think they’ve forgotten to look down. They never stop to think and consider the possibility that I could maybe recognize and remember all the stories of the people that have passed over me. I see so many thoughts, so many dreams, so many smiles, so many tears, so many footsteps. But no one ever thinks about the sidewalk. No one considers the fact, that maybe, there isn’t enough sidewalk for everyone.

The Sunny Days

By: Maddy Day
The sun stands high
When these days are so long
We take the hot black roof off the car
It’s time for a trip
To the lake
We will swim
And boat
We will tube
And kayak
For theres only
So many things you can
Do on such hot hot days
But to play
Like sit and sip
Then swim and take a dip
Until the sky grows dark
Then it’s time.
Time for the young ones
To play
We drink our soda
We play cards
With a wooden board,
And cut off matchsticks.
We play
By the fire
As it crackles.
It sneaks higher and higher
Into the night It roars
And I feed it
It is satisfied
And stronger
I wonder
Can the bean pot
Hold it much longer?
The sun is gone
But the fun does not recede
We will play until the lake is awake
And tells us to sleep
But the lake is glowing
With the moon’s great brilliance
So that leads us to believe
It’s still time to have fun


Hollow Promises

By: Mason Kluge-Edwards

“See you soon.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“I love you.”
Promises written,
Meant to be kept,
Meant to bring hope,
Meant to show trust.
But things aren’t always as they seem.
It sits on the side of the street.
Its cold, blue exterior holding a pit of hollow expectance.
Unseen factors push promises from truth.
Feelings. Time. Distance…
Work their way, to be in the way.
Statements once true, turn false.
Only saved by hope, longing, love.
We wait for words on paper to fill its insides.
Wait for words of meaning, of feeling, to come to us.
Words are strong.
Words leave marks on peoples’ hearts,
On peoples’ souls.
But words can hurt.
Even if they’re not formed as weaponry.
They have meaning.
Meant to cause happiness,
Meant to cause hope.
But not always kept,
Not always true.
Sometimes they hurt.