The Muse Edition 8:02

THE MUSE

muse \ ˈmyüz \ noun.

a source of inspiration; a state of deep thought or dreamy abstract

CONTENTS

COVER

Emerson Brown

dear reader 05

ART

Spring Lakeside, Lee Kirkland 09

Follow the Lego Brick Road, Alex Wong 12

Rhythm Cycle of Day and Night, Jonathan Lin 16 | 17

Not A ‘Phase,’ Alex Wong 26

Where did the good old days go?, Ava Scott 31

Omnipotence, Jonathan Lin 47

Still Life with Assorted Fruits, Elaine Ma 48

The Plague, Jennifer Dick-Peddie 52

PHOTOGRAPHY

Heart on le Grass, Alex Wong 08

Burning Sky, Alex Wong 10

Paint, Alex Wong 11

Madison Lin 14 | 18 | 19 | 28 | 29

Enya Liu 15 Leah Cawley 21

Ariadine Antonio 22 | 23 | 36

Anjani Nabar 24 | 33

JUE 12, Thi Nguyen 27

4:07 pm, Enya Liu 30

Ruby Lee 32

Clara Schultz 34 Love, Alex Wong 35

Beauty of Water and Green, Leah Cawley 37

Juliana Bernal 39 | 42

c’est la vie, Juliana Bernal 43

Elizabeth Yang 46

POETRY

06 Paradoxical Perception, Caylee Correia

07 Artificial Love, Caitlyn Boynton

09 EE’S AND OH’S, Benjamin Mui

10 This Feeling, Angel Torres

11 I Know I Can Do It, Eesha Sivakumar

13 Shake, Alex Wong

13 Shudder, Alex Wong

14, Release, Alex Wong

15 I Know, Anik Hoskeri

18 Weary Bones, Marin Garand

20 Buoyancy of Circulated Love, Ave Pulido

21 Can You Control the Time, Thi Nguyen

22 Retired Shoes, Benjamin Mui

23 Country Lanes, Kori Zacher

24 Brianna Wiles

25 Grey Night, Benjamin Mui

28 A View Over Bustling City Lights, Benjamin Mui

29 It’s in the Past, Madison Tada

31 Where Did the Good Old Days Go?, Ava Scott

32 Concept of Time, Hannah Kitchener

33 Missing Someone, Benjamin Mui

35 Lovers on a Long Lost Night, Dhwani Kharidia

36 The Melody, Gabriel Brenner

38 | 39 The Soul on a Hill, Alex Call

40 Sisyphus, Benjamin Mui

46 Lamentations of an Older Sister, Alex Wong

49 | 50| 51 The Clock Tower, Kevin Liu

53 Dark Abyss, Nathan Elias

SHORT STORIES

27 The Girl Who Tampered With Time, Melanie Cheung

44 | 45 Mark of the Titan Lord, Jonathan Lin

SIX-WORD STORIES

41 Jonathan Lin

41 Kori Zacher

41 Nathan Elias

41 Brandon Azhar

MUSIC

34 2:05, Clara Schultz

dear reader:

We introduce to you The Muse's second edition for the 2021-2022 academic year. This spring, we decided to give submissions a theme: time. Time is a subject that can be perceived and demonstrated in a variety of ways. For high school students, time may be spent completing an assignment before a deadline or attempting to strike a balance between work and relaxation. Time may refer to how much longer our seniors have left at Mitty before heading off to college.

Students created artwork, photography, poems, and other creative works to illustrate how they interpret time. Just as with any great piece of art, interpretation belongs to the viewer. The same can be said for all of the poems, photos, and stories from your fellow students. The concept of time differs from one student to the next, and our artists’ works reflect this. As you turn the pages of The Muse, you'll find stories and poetry that we hope you will be able to relate to, and photographs and art pieces that allow you to put your own spin on the meaning of time.

The color palette and layout this semester are simplistic to not distract from the works of art in the magazine. With only deep black, muted white, and ‘burlywood’ yellow, the color scheme does not overwhelm the art pieces, which provide their own pops of color to the pages.

We end this note with the hopes that you will be able to happily peruse the carefully designed pages of The Muse, and be able to understand each student’s definition of time. As the ancient Greek philosopher Theophrastus once said, “Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend.” The students whose work is showcased spent valuable time this semester to explain their vision of time through their art, poetry, photography, and writing. We hope that you enjoy.

Madison Lin ‘25

Paradoxical Perception

Caylee Correia ‘25

Some say right now, we are living in the rumored post-death flashback. Is this why time feels so fast at times, and at other times so slow? The origin of deja vu supports this: When we feel like we have already lived a life, Or have experienced a moment, It’s because we really have. There is such a concept with death, But your life can’t flash before your eyes because Death would be impossible. If there was no such concept as time, Aging would occur much more slowly, Since we can’t keep track of how long we have lived. Our perception of time can classify as a disorder, Almost like a trial of hallucinogens.

This unnamed concept, tied with time, Rings a chime with rhyme, In which our lives are in The hands of whatever decisions we made In our initial lives. We now continue this loop, Forever reliving our best and worst moments; Our first and most recent lovers, And everything in between.

Artificial Love

Caitlyn Boynton

'23

People often use nature to describe their love, but my love has never been labeled as anything other than artificial.

Artificial, fake, man-made, a delusion.

I tried to be natural, I tried to be like the normal lovers But I am a liar.

Everyone knows I am not natural. My lover is not natural.

I am told that all I know is not real. I created this fall from grace all by myself I have been transformed into a Midas against my will. Everything I touch is artificial.

Artificial, fake, man-made, a delusion.

Are the roses that bloom between us also fake?

The iridescent red that I colored with my devotion Turned into a cold plastic within my hands. But my lover has planted a seed of salvation within me, And I have been rescued from the violence of who I was before.

Even if it is still false in the eyes of the world. They hold the thorns of my love to my throat and Denounce my savior.

But I say, so what?

We found sanctuary in our bodies Hidden away from the natural lovers. If I must hide, I will hide with my artificial creation. I will remain at the hands of my delusion for a little longer.

My tears born from the cruelty I face pale in comparison To the happiness I feel when I’m with my lover.

The world struggles to pull a smile out of me,

But it’s an ever present feature around the one I call mine.

My love has never been labeled as anything other than Artificial.

My lover is a fake. These roses are man-made. And I am nothing but a delusion.

But it’s still love nonetheless.

Heart on le Grass Alex Wong

EE’S AND OH’S

Benjamin Mui ’22

And as we fall down on our knees

Looking up at the light flooding through the trees

How soft the grass feels under my toes

Pleading to nature, “Teach me how to grow”

Softly falls the flaking snow

Preferring the cold instead of darkness we’ll never know

Plunging into nothingness or dreams in our sleep

Remembering the love we give and not the love we keep

How I love listening to your sweet melodies

But I still see shadows of distant memories

And just as the rushing river flows

Run and wash away the blood and pains of the soul

Now I demand back the heart that you stole

So that I may once again feel complete and whole

And how fortunate it is that we continue to bleed

The red confirmation that I can still feel something

Lakeside Lee Kirkland ‘23

Spring

This Feeling Angel Torres ‘25

What is this feeling

It hurts but also feels good

I feel lost but yet so close

Just out of reach of something I already have

So new but feels like an old friend who would always be by your side

But you stopped talking to that friend because they hurt you

Feels like my chest is floating

Then my chest is sinking

I am so confused

Is this No... Is it...

Burning Sky Alexandra Wong ‘22

I Know I Can Do It

Eesha Sivakumar ‘25

Good times, and bad times, are part of life I tell my mind, Be steady and wise I know I can do it

I feel despair, I feel defeated, I have many things to repair I know I can do it

Piece by piece

Step by step, like a bud becoming a flower, Not everything comes with ease But, I know I can do it

I strengthen my resolve

Like a passing cloud, this too shall pass I am ready to evolve Bring on any challenge—I know I can do it

Paint

Alex Wong ‘22

Follow the Lego Brick Road

Alex Wong ‘22

Shake

Alex Wong ‘22

Crown of needles

Gently piercing,

Silvery sparks

Alight in my mind

Stretching and grasping

Trembling spirits

Shivering hands

Still.

Shudder

Alex Wong ‘22

The pricking upon my eye

A halo of thorns

Adorns my skin

A trio on either side

I stare into the wide expanse

Lavender seas--

Gentle protrusions

Caressing electricity sparking.

Release Alex Wong ‘22

there are many fish in the sea-yes thank you. i know.

but of every fish i’ve seen so far it was this one that i chose to care for. to love and hold dear to me-scales glimmering in the sunlight. to capture it in a tank is cruel and terrible. walking on the coast i watch it dance away from me.

Madison Lin ‘25

I Know

Anik Hoskeri

I know. I know

The way of the world. Do I know How to grow? That’s a question. I know

How to feel my expressions. I know The feelings of people. I know Some call me the saint, some call me all knowing. I know But I wish sometimes I could grow more. I know

Sometimes I wish I could learn, experience more, and grow.

Enya Liu ‘23

‘25

Rhythm Cycle of Day and Night

Jonathan Lin ‘23

Weary Bones

Marin Garand ‘23

I find myself in front of an echo of a home long gone.

The front door, once a lovely cabernet color, is now an ashy brown. The trim is peeling and the paint falls off in sheets. I try my best not to touch anything, not wanting it all to fall apart.

Maybe it’s too late for that.

The clunking noise of my suitcase rolling over the stone tiles sounds like high heels clicking on the stairs, and I close my eyes, lost in the fleets of memory.

I can hear the delighted shrieks of two little girls chasing each other around the living room, fingers reaching wildly.

Chili bubbles on the stove, cats wind between barstools. Love curves in the curl of his hand on her hip, and she laughs--

My eyes fly open, and I let the pain slip out in a drop onto my cheek, splattering to the floor. Shadows of forgotten people shift around the room, whispering. I close my eyes again, wishing to find that family again, but they are already lost. I nod quickly, and the house is gaunt, silent.

My eyes run over the collapsed staircase; the dusty floors; the invisible handprints that pain has left on these old, frail walls.

I make sure the door closes gently behind me, and I let time swallow the bones of the home that rests behind it.

Buoyancy of Circulated Love

Ave Pulido '23

I will always remember that day, your hand like a light in my shadows my dear heart couldn’t stay at bay as I began to dip my feet into the shallows. Drifted out to sea, the retired feelings flooding back, although my mind begged to disagree, the heart speaks that this isn’t just an act. Further away I am drifted reminded of those times of the past. The waves that have me lifted understand that this infatuation has outlast. The warmth of the rays that beat down on my face bring me back to those days when it was your smile that always had me embraced. Those times are now gone. It is here we meet again. Recounting what we’ve undergone, I stand here with you in the sane. Although the future is uncertain, all I hope is that I’m not a burden. What I do know now that is for certain is love circulates time and time again.

Leah Cawley ‘25

Can You Control the Time

Thi Nguyen '23

can you control the time?

because you keep me waiting even if I am disappointed it’s officially spring now but it still feels like the dead of autumn how else would that be possible?

did you control the time? when you’re in love does time pass by quickly or does it feel like a soothing slow it was both; moments filled with more electricity than time could comprehensively capacitate that it went by slow, but the collective experience was too fast, rather too short

will you control the time?

I want to go back, or no, let's skip to the future for healing a physical tangible warmth can’t just transform into cold breezes of wind

you do control the time turning a reality and truth into only a memory or maybe even just a dream actually, they say we didn't exist in this timeline at all

Retired Shoes

Benjamin Mui ‘22

Lifeless lay the line of long looking shoes

But flowing are the memories inside them

Back during the time with nothing to lose

Eager and crisp before the journey ahead

Like the ballerina whose dancing ceased too soon

Those tippy-toes and pirouettes lighting up the stage

Last but for a sliver of time before the curtains close

The once graceful dancer reduced to nervous and depressed

Like the runner whose legs would carry him miles

Where youth was indeed his greatest friend

While age slowly outpaced his struggles

And overtook him before crossing the finish line

Like the veteran whose boots walked bloodied swamps

Innocence was the first casualty of battle

Followed by the friends lost along the way

Their final words or screams echoing again

Although the shoes sit serving as a reminder

Of our past glories and triumphs… our golden years

We still sneak our ways out and forward

Savoring love for a time far shorter Than that of which we’ll be gone

Finding life and fire beyond days retired

Country Lanes Kori Zacher ‘23

She drove a ratty, old, sky blue Ford pickup With a rust-riddled white roof. The rubber tires squeaked and squelched And crunched along the Gravel and dust country lanes We roamed.

The wind on our hair, leaves blowing by — We were Free souls, spirits conjoined, and it felt Like Forever.

Brianna Wiles '23

Time:

So short on time, There wasn’t enough time

Before the day creeped up on us

Like we never could’ve expected It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real—

Neon brilliance was all I could see

As a hymn filled the dull air around me It was over now, I would finally see

Grey Night

Benjamin Mui ‘22

The Grey Night creeps above the hill And dashes away the sunbeams That shone across the valley

The once golden hills Now fade away into dusk

But the silencing of the crow And slumbering of the rooster Still fail to bring peace and quiet

As Night has only begun To reveal her orchestra in concert

So it begins with the clap of thunder And the pitter of the rain

Followed by the patter of the prowlers

All the while the chirping of the birds Is replaced by the singing of the crickets

The buzz of the tiny lanterns hovering in air Illuminate the groaning trees swaying Their leaves rustle in the frosty gale And fall into the grumbling river Flowing softly across the way

Finally the lone spectator Standing solemnly in the meadow

With tears falling in the fields Mourning the death of a rose Wilting among the grass

Not A ‘Phase’ Alex Wong ‘22

The Girl Who Tampered With Time

Melanie Cheung ‘24

With a swing of her legs, the girl hopped out of bed. Hazel eyes blinked, eyelids closing just slightly in an attempt to shield her sensitive pupils from the sunlight streaming through the two windows next to her. Ding-Dong! Alina groaned as she heard the sound of her doorbell ringing. Who on this gods-forsaken earth rings the doorbell at six in the morning... The girl got up anyway, groaning and grumbling under her breath in irritation. “I’m coming!” she shouted toward the doorway. Her mouth opened wide, head tipping back as she yawned and rolled her head in a circle at the same time. A pleasant smile crossed her face as she heard a few satisfying pops. How relaxing. Alina continued on her way toward her dresser, taking her time. She paused in her steps, however, contemplating the idea of a visitor. Had she really been expecting anyone today? Listing the few

A View Over Bustling City Lights

Benjamin Mui ‘22

Chirp chirp go the singing crickets

On a warm and humid summer night

Strolling brightly lit trails to the mountainside

Leaning over a fence to admire the view

Where the rumbling of cars on the freeway

Is but a buzz and a line of lights down below

Driving parallel and unaware

Of the wondrous river made beautiful

By shining lights reflecting off the surface

And yet while the scene far away beckons me

I find myself entranced by another

Walking gracefully beside me—smiling

Whose hair is wrapped in a messy bun

Allowing stray strands to quiver in the wind

What deep breath of fresh air void of fine dust

Lifts the veil over my eyes and I see the world

As one of infinite opportunities and joy

For those who use youth as their guide

And earnest dreams as their weapon

To harness the time we’ve been given

Along with the second chance

Like the burning lights of the buildings

Creating a city amongst the darkness of night

Dreams such as these make crystal clear

That romance or the potential of it

Is worth living for.

It’s in the Past Madison Tada ‘25

I hope you know I still care about you

Even if I do not show it enough I want to have a lot of fun with you

But it would probably be kind of tough

We act like we are strangers all the time

We can't even look at each other now I can remember when I called you mine

Now the memories in my head are quite loud

I miss the times we used to live and laugh

Remember when we would call for hours

But it seems like it will be in the past

Now I'm alone picking my own flowers

I miss you with most of my heart and more

But now I must move on and close that door

Enya Liu ‘23 4:07 pm

Where Did the Good Old Days Go?

Ava Scott ‘22

Where did the good old days go

When we were Captain of the ship steering the helm I miss the beauty in make believe

Now there are things I need to achieve The quiet moments have gone unnoticed I notice them now

But I’m remembering how I didn’t fully value them then Is it too late

To try to recreate the good old days I want to be more carefree

Travel as far as a bumblebee

Let’s sail all of the waves and chaotic sea

Though they crash into me, that’s how the water flows

Let’s make paper boats, and be children always Cause that’s how we make the new good old days

Concept of Time

Hannah Kitchener '25

The minutes go quickly

The hours slowly

Days fast

Suddenly the year is in the past

Lots to do in a short time

Make a rhyme

Read a book

Find a new look

Time is a strange thing

The concept makes a head ring

A month ago feels like the day prior

Days burn away like a fire

Ruby Lee ‘25

Anjani Nanbar ‘25

Missing Someone

Benjamin Mui ‘22

I woke up to the rains coming again

Pitter patter against my window sill

Or maybe the sound was that of my heart

Fluttering itself awake—ever fragile

Jarred and frightened by the sound of thunder

I thought of someone close today

Close yet somehow as far as can be

Like water dripping down the vine leaves above

Like the walk sign changing to “stop”

Or the lofty clouds sailing peacefully onward

Yet the sun still shines through the rain

Indeed sparkling more brilliantly in the sky

Causing the rocks on which we stand to glow

While watching a little bumbling creek

Created by the surely passing shower

And as the city is covered in purple and blue

The setting sun casts its fading orange hue

Leaving the multitude of cars passing in the night

Seemingly aimless about their ways of travel

Leading back to home… or nowhere

Sketching the round lake that was ours

Where I was given the chance to love someone

Not everyone gets the chance to love somebody

Along with having some amazing times with them

Which is a million times better than none at all

I’m missing someone like you might be too

Thinking to see them soon…or never again

The times might be stopped but never gone

It’s ok to miss someone because that means

You Love

And there’s nothing wrong with that

Now is there?

2:05

Clara Schultz ‘23

Clara Schultz ‘23

Lovers On a Long Lost Night

Dhwani Kharidia ‘23

The melody of the cool breeze

Grazing the branches and Whistling on the leaves

As it dances in a dark night’s air

The still water softly gliding

Through the depths of the lovers’ world

Chiming in the moonlight like the song of angels

As they sit on the moist dirt

The atmosphere covered with a blue luminescence

Their world shrinks into nothing

But the breathtaking scene in front

Lit by the bright, glistening moonlight

The lovers rest their heads

On each other’s warm shoulder

And look into the depths

Of perpetual bliss

Love

Alex Wong ‘22

The Melody

Gabriel Brenner ‘22

For as long as I remember I’ve heard the melody, the melody that is broadly spoken. Continually hearing the repetition that life is too short, an idea I had no resentment to. Since the dawn of the melody, I’ve tried to live in the moment, pretending as though each one may have been my very last. However, it is only here, enduring my final moments, that I feel those words are understood. Upon reminiscing, the only emotion I possess is sorrow. Sorrow for the forgotten dreams and the unaddressed regrets. Sorrow for the youth that I feel is now wasted, which lacked the presence of my present wisdom. I tried to live a life that would allow me to face death with certainty, only to realize the effort to be aimless. The potentiality of slipping into an infinite void of unconsciousness is not of my concern, it is only the inevitable travesty that as my death grows near what lies behind me is a completed book written in the language of permanence. Life is not a game I asked to play, and on the cusp of death saying that to live is to die does not appear to be a needlessly pessimistic phrase. I could’ve read all the wise words the philosophers and poets have said since the dawn of humanity, but none of it would have prepared me for facing the abyssal plains of death that lie ahead, which forsake me from all that lies behind. I could have traveled to Thoreau’s woods, only to find that in doing so I surrendered the opportunity to traverse the stars. I could have lived deliberately, only to find I had not lived freely. I could have become the absurd hero, so aptly revered by Camus, only to find I had become a villain to my principle. I could have done a lot, but I did nothing. This melodic melancholy that is habitually termed life, something that begins and ends so unpredictably, is only beautiful because of all that lies in between. I just wish I had understood the melody before it was too late.

Beauty of Water and Green

Leah Cawley ‘25

The Soul on a Hill

Alex Call ‘23

A Soul bathed in brightness lies soft on a hill, It twiddles its thumbs—takes from Life what it will. It thinks about thinking, it dreams about dreaming.

Briefly it wonders, Well, where is the meaning?

The clouds? No, they rain. The sun? Far too bright. Perhaps it is all merely dark cosmic night: A force of indifference, a will of the No, Or maybe the Yes—if fate deems it be so.

O’ Night, cruel old master! What game do you play, When Time in its hurry shall come but not stay? And if nothing is whither and nothing is whence Then why even bother to try and make sense?

—Oh but see how the birds chirp, aperch in their nest! And mother and father hold child abreast, And flowers abloom in the thickets unfold Under the sunset like rivers of gold.

If this is the nothing, is nothing so bad?

Perhaps the Soul’s purpose is just to be glad:

To witness the beauty that Life has in store And not to waste time vainly wishing for more.

But it’s sad, nay it’s mad—no, it’s glad! Just be glad! It tries but it cries and now everything dies. It sees all around it in steady decay, And weeps hollow breaths as it dreams of what may Be in the Will-be, the Was, or the Now: The love and the loss of what Life may allow, A dutiful reaper collecting his wages, A meadow of candlelight, lost to the ages.

It fears and it frets, no! It steadies its breath—

In out, up down, Beat beat, thump thump.

It closes its eyes, rests a hand on its heart, Neither ready to end, nor ready to start

Juliana Bernal ‘25

Sisyphus

Benjamin Mui ‘22

The snow drifts down slowly today

A side effect of the winter chill

Everything white as the moon at night

But all without the glow

It’s all just part of life’s challenges

They roll soundly down at times

Or crash suddenly to the bottom

So it seems that the illusion of control

Over the highs and the lows

Is nothing more than Sisyphus’s eternal doom

To roll the boulder of life high up the hill

Only to have it fall before the top

Yet somehow there is a meaning

A heroic act to push day after day

To raise a clenched fist to the absurdity

That is living tomorrow’s today

To view it all upon high

Being able to realize both how far we’ve come

And how far we’ve yet to go

Given a choice to either leave the task undone

Or with triumphant smiles

March down the hill to begin again.

I’m beside myself; cloning machine works. Brandon Azhar ‘25

Too much time, but never enough. Kori Zacher ‘23

Don’t tell stories; live them out. Jonathan Lin ‘23

Didn't finish; I gave it up. Nathan Elias ‘22

Juliana Bernal ‘25

c’est la vie

Juliana Bernal ‘25

Mark of the Titan Lord

Jonathan Lin ‘23

Before the world came to know the likes of Earth and the "planets" that revolve around the sun, there existed the Arenos galaxy. A collection of gas, dust particles, and its stars, held together by gravity, forming a truly magnificent beauty of purple-blue beyond compare.

In this galaxy, there existed three kingdoms that people called home: Tartarus, Kalos, and Olympus, standing powerfully over the land. Interconnected they were, life was ever prosperous.

Independent, peaceful, and joyous as they were, these kingdoms were left unbothered for millennia. Although diverse and vastly different, they were one. Life blossomed and prospered for the lifeforms that inhabited such lands, each one unique in skill and spirit.

Life was good, to say the least. Days were run on a day-to-day basis as weeks slowly passed them by. Their roles were theirs for the selection as civilians lived quite happily with the hustle and bustle of the day-to-day.

However, one must not undermine the grandeur of such kingdoms, for each kingdom was protected by a powerful guardian warrior, each unique in spirit and strength. Under their supervision, guidance, and care, all was well. It seemed as if harm could not be done to this paradise.

That all took a turn one early, uninviting Sunday morning when the sounding of church bells, the soothing clash of metal from the blacksmith’s iron hammers, was blurred and swallowed by the clash of swords and the smokey, smoggy haze that began to arise from Kalos, one of the three beloved kingdoms. It was as if God’s power and protection had been put into question. It was as if one’s will had been put to the test.

A dark, great, sinister evil had always existed somewhere off in the distance, unforgotten. An unforgettable secret in the hearts of the guardians, which they hid to protect those below. Battered down and beaten, tortured, and feared for his potential return, which would be unstoppable. Despite being imprisoned, this fiend managed to escape. A fiend discovered in the realms of myth. A fiend once captured, held no more.

The peaceful world that was once known would be thrown into unyielding chaos once more.

Lamentations of an Older Sister Alex Wong ‘22

I wish to hold you Entirely so

To protect you from their barbed words.

But to embrace a cactus Leaves spines within my skin To comfort you would leave me More sorrowful as You use their thorns on me.

Why do you hurt me so. I wonder if You realize because You are my smart little brother But sometimes you radiate A coldness that Never seems to go away.

Elizabeth Yang ‘23

Omnipotence

Jonathan Lin ‘23

Still Life with Assorted Fruits

Elaine Ma ‘22

The Clock Tower

Kevin Liu ‘24

Christening

Hundreds of years ago, maybe more a small village stood on the moor

Its adults worked hard all day

While its children laughed and played

The houses were sculpted out of stone and sticks

The village hall: gleaming alabaster bricks

The outer walls, of earth pounded firm

The main street, of cobblestone lined with ferns

Sadly, something was missing, the elders all knew They needed something to rally to “What should be built?” the elders asked

A clock tower, they decided, but no easy task

However, the people agreed without resistance

And everyone came to the builders’ assistance

They worked in the day, with the sun on fire

They labored at night, below the moonlight spires

Up went the bells, of burnished bronze

Forged to perfection with a hammer and tongs

On the forty-ninth day, they rang loud and clear

The labor complete; the villagers cheered.

And it came tumbling down

The chaos scorched the land, dried the grass

It was like Abaddon: no one wanted to pass

Blackened and twisted were the trees

The sky mourned with a gentle breeze

The town, too, deserted and empty

In the dirt, skeletons aplenty Valiant defenders they were in life Suddenly ceased with the stroke of a knife

The tower, how glorious it was

The tower, how dead it is

Years before, it shone with light

Now, there is nothing but night

The storm could not bash it to the ground

When the floods came, it did not drown

But age won during the final round

From that moment forth, the bells tolled each hour of the day

Tick tock, clang clang, what a wondrous display!

And it all came tumbling down

The curtains were in tatters

Broken, were the wooden rafters

Gone, was all the laughter

When it all came tumbling down

The bell tolled one last time as it shattered against the stones

After it all came tumbling down

Ruins

A hill in the distance, topped with weathered rock

On the side there was a mangled clock

Tick tock, tick tock

The mockingbird mocked

The wood had long since faded to dust

The iron was red from rust

Bronze bells: dented and crushed

Through the devastated sight, the wind rushed

The village had lived through a time of prosperity

But it had now faded into obscurity

In the history books, it was nonexistent

Various sources were inconsistent

Then, the storm attacked again, its blades much stronger

The rains fell, harder and harder

Soon, the village ruins were swept away by flood

And the clock tower was there no longer

When the water subsided, ruins scattered the plain Debris lay all around, washed clean by the rain

Of the clock tower, only one thing remained

The bells, a monument to those who were slain

They lay in the mud, forgotten by time

Oh, the poor bells that no longer chime

Spectral Ball

On one night of the year, a ghostly tower rises in all its glory

When described, it seems almost hallucinatory

But its not fake, its real

Some say they can even hear the mysterious bells peal

When the clock strikes twelve, the spirits start their dance

To melodies that can put one in a trance

The music tells of brave heroes, strong and true

Of fair maidens, and daydreaming little boys too

Faster and faster, the ghosts spin in their waltz

They dance without rest, as if they are enthralled

Their shimmering gowns and ivory suits twirl

The moonlight glints off their pearls

Be cautious, however, of joining the revelry

Because, once one goes, they can never leave

They will too be trapped in the ball

Reduced to something less than mortal

Ultimately, the sun rises over the peaks

The shimmering phantom of the tower grows weak

For a moment, the bells clang again, echoing across the valley

Then, it disappears again into mystery.

How beautiful and loud the bells were when they rang

How faint are the echos as they fade away.

The Plague

Jennifer Dick-Peddie ‘24

Dark Abyss

Nathan Elias ‘22

A few weeks ago, I caught A vision of my own Death.

Everyone was dressed in Black, black gowns with Black caps,

Bodies falling through the rye, Though I couldn’t see through–To what.

I nearly fell into the dark abyss As I stared ahead into the Cloaked figure seated In front of me,

As the reaper’s voice boomed overhead, Croaking the names of the deceased one by one, In alphabetical order by last name

Now the clock is ticking until I meet that moment, For real this time–

Unsure of whether to welcome it, Or do everything I can to stop it;

Unsure of whether I woke up from a dream, Or went back to sleep.

Moderator

Mr. Kevin Brazelton

Proofreader

Mrs. Janelle Kroenung

Administrator

Mr. Keith Mathews

Editors

Luna Anderson

Ariadine Antonio

Jules Banucci

Elizabeth Joseph Guhan Karthik

Enya Liu

Arnav Mishra

Stella Park

Arielle Rizal

Sara Simoni

Chelsea Soriano

Ria Sudhir

Alinna Villaroman

Kori Zacher

Archbishop Mitty High School

Literary Magazine

Mission Statement

The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine is a collection of original, creative content produced by students of Archbishop Mitty. The purpose of this magazine is to support students' creative expression, to allow students to share their words and experiences in an imaginative way, and to establish a community of artists, writers, and thinkers. By creating an outlet for student voices, The Muse hopes to foster a culture of self-expression and interconnection throughout the entire student body.

Thanks for reading this issue of The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine! Our creative ventures can have a profound impact on our understanding of the world around us. It is our sincere hope that the content within this issue has inspired you to think, write, and dream. Please on the lookout for more issues in the future. We hope to see you again as we publish more fantastic work created by AMHS students.

– The Editors