Clouds of sticky smoke, hug
the dark and floating heads
Air clogged with anticipation
For what will happen next.
They come on,
underneath a coat of
hair gel, Prophets of our Youth
and they send their message true.
The set purrs, muffled...
And then we are engulfed in sound
And we drown smiling and sure we’ll resurface far too soon.
But when we do we’ll know it all
because words waltz high and I sing along.
For I am on the same page as strangers,
and our emotions gel
Let the music take you and
You’ll see, what we see
And a grungy concert hall
Will be your chapel
The universe surrounds me,
and the stars burn sharp around me
the words pound in my gut:
“War does not exist,
War is a made up thing.”
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]
Copyright © 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose ©
2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.