Tidal Currents Vol. 1, #3. 2018
Editor-in-Chief Ryan Moulton ‘18
Associate Editor
Cover Designs
Tyler Gazda ‘18
Nic Romo ‘18
Editorial Board John McGuckin ‘18
Nic Romo ‘18 Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
In Loving Memory of Pat Nattle
Devon Preparatory School is a private, Catholic, college preparatory school for young men in grades 6 to 12, conducted by the Piarist Fathers. 363 North Valley Forge Rd. Devon, PA 19333 610-688-7337
Foreword Devon Prep lost Pat Nattle this year, a man who embodied the principles of hard work, unbridled love, dedication and compassion. To class after class of Devon students, he was surrogate father, confidante, taskmaster, and booster. Perhaps most of all, he was a big brother, not just to students, but to colleagues as well. Far better than my words, this poem by senior Jay Wilmer, speaks for the whole staff of Tidal Currents, and actually, for our whole community. It is for Pat. Mr. Sheehan
Cogitationes de Amicitia Cherish friendship like precious gems Protect it, do all you can to preserve it Most importantly, enjoy it as much as you can Make counting your blessings a daily habit Never fail to recognize that love is magic To have other brothers is a stroke of good luck A blessing not realized by most They will always be there to pull you from the muck To prevent your becoming a ghost So to friendship I propose a joyous toast May we all find our own brothers-in-arms Who will join us in all of our own little wars Protecting us from every harm Then, now, and forevermore And on eagles’ wings may our friendships soar Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
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Contributors Frank Byrd III ‘18- pg. 10 Justin Chambers ‘18- pg. 13 James Costello ‘18- pgs. 9, 20 Ian Fabris ‘24- pg. 30 Tyler Gazda ‘18- pg. 12 Harrison Jonik ‘18- pg. 29 Joshua Jose ‘18- pg. 21 Cole Kelly ‘21- pg. 19 John McGuckin ‘18- pgs. 5, 29 Coleman Miller ‘21- pg. 19 Ryan Milligan ‘18- pg. 15 Luca Miraldi ‘20- pg. 8 Ryan Moulton ‘18- pg. 18 Joseph Perullo ‘22- pg. 13 Christopher Supplee ‘21- pg. 4 Morgan Unruh ‘20- pgs. 22, 27 Kidder Urban ‘23- pg. 8 Charles Verna ‘18- pgs. 17, 31 Kevin Walton ‘20- pg. 14 Andrew Weir ‘23- pg. 12 Jacob Wethman ‘22- pg. 26 Gerald Wilmer III ‘18- pgs. 2, 9, 13, 20, 28, 32 Robert Young ‘18- pg. 23
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Alone I walk on this Earth yet go Unseen Nobody hears the cries I weap Chained to the past, of what used To be They tell me it won’t last, Find positivity Reaching out but still I fall Nobody is there as I hear my Call I exclaim, God is that you Do not stall Reaching out but I fall There is no ground, just darkness Pressing rewind, attempt to stop this Once again unseen like the Lochness But am I a monster, why are you Only watching Scared to open my eyes, am I Dreaming Afraid, as I start feeling overheated I began to hear the old me Leaving Not returning, even if I seek Him, Awake, yet no one is home Once again, I am alone
Christopher Supplee ‘21
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In The Dark The crackling of rifle fire fills the dirt walls of the tunnels. Shots ring out from both sides, as well as screams in German and English. I peek around the cor-ner and quickly pull my head back as a bullet strikes the dirt mound next to me, spraying brown chunks of earth into the air. Sitting behind my cover I blind-ly fire my rifle, praying that I hit whoever was fir-ing at me with a lucky shot. Someone must have heard my prayer because the rifle fire from the German side quickly ceases. I wait a minute then another, lis - tening for any sign of the enemy but I hear none. I turn the corner again and look down the long tunnel towards the German position. Instead of seeing enemy soldiers poised to kill I saw only the bodies of those we killed and various tools they left behind. “Seems like we got them!” a voice rings out behind me fol-lowed by cheers. I turn and smile at my comrades as we emerge from our cover. Smiling and exchanging jokes, “They almost got ya, Taylor! You should keep that head of yours down.” I laugh and wave off the joking com-ment, “Well they haven’t gotten me yet!” Laughs fill our tunnel but suddenly an explosion rings out. The shock wave cuts off our jovial voices and shakes us to the ground. “What the bloody hell was that!” Turning our heads to the German side we watch in horror as a fireball fills up the tunnel and approaches our posi-tion, “Get down!” I dive for cover and hold my breath. The fireball reaches our position and expands into a massive explosion, blowing a hole in the ground and collapsing the dirt walls all around us. I could hear the screams of my comrades, begging and crying out for help as the dirt buried us underground.
I open my eyes and look around. The cave and tunnels were gone, the only thing in front of me now was darkness. “Hello? Anyone there?” I try to stand up, pulling my legs out from the dirt and stretching them out. “Damn, it’s dark.” Stumbling forward I stick a hand out and touch the wall to guide myself forward. The wall had the same texture of wet dirt with the occasional sharp stone jutting out. I take a couple more steps forward when I feel my foot get caught on a clump of dirt, which sends me sprawling to the ground and right on top of something soft.
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“Agh dammit... what the heck is this?” Reaching into my pocket I find my box of matches. After opening the match box I take a single match out and strike it against the side of the box, squinting against the glare as the match ignites. The light covers my land-ing zone, revealing that the object I landed on was the body of a German soldier, which sends a wave of terror through me. I jump back and I land on my rear against the other wall of the cave. Panting hard I place a hand on my chest to feel my heart racing in fear. I suck down air. Once my breathing had slowed to normal I reach into my pocket and light up another match. Crawling forward I approach the body again. Inspecting the body I find a tunneling tool and a melee weapon. But the best find of all was a single German hand grenade. The weapon was a simple design, a wooden handle topped with a cylindrical explosive charge. I slide the weap-on in my belt, “I’ll save that for later.” Smiling in the darkness I blow the match out and start to walk again. While walking I begin to feel odd. At first it felt like a growing pressure on my chest but eventu-ally my lungs started to burn and I could feel myself choking on nothing. Running forward through the dark-ness I manage to outrun whatever it was and take in
a gasping breath of air. I lean against the wall to catch my breath and think back to my training while I wait. Thinking back I could remember my instructor telling me about the possibility of cave ins and how oxygen usually would get cut off. I realized, I was slowly suffocating here. Frantically I charge through the darkness. With this new revelation I was now desperate to get out. I run back to where I think the Allied tunnel originated from before the collapse. Feeling around in the darkness I locate various tools including a hand shovel and a rifle. I set the rifle to the side but take the shovel and start to dig. I cut through the dirt, toss-ing it behind me and inching my way forward through the dark. Minutes seem like hours down in the dark but I continue to bore forward, the air around me slowly
becoming stale with each breath.
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Through the sound of digging and my breaths the faint whisper of voices was heard. I stop digging for a second and listen. The voices were coming through the dirt and were hard to hear but one thing was for sure, they were speaking English. With rejuvenated en-ergy I continue my digging frenzy, desperately tossing the loose dirt behind me until the wooden shovel han-dle snapped. Left with only a the blade of the shovel I fall back and sob in desperation as the pressure on my chest returns. With no other options I lay there crying, believing that this is the end for me and that I would die after getting so close. Through my tears and sob-bing however an idea comes. Taking the hand grenade in my belt I shove it into the dirt where I was dig-ging. I grab the rifle I found and eject eight rounds from it, leaving two in the rifle, one for my plan and one for myself incase my plan failed. I arrange the other bullets around the explosive charge of the gre-nade and light a match next to them for illumination. Running backwards I get to a safe distance and turn, aiming the rifle at the match. I carefully steady my aim, release my breath and pull the trigger to strike and detonate the grenade. Smoke fills the cave and ob-scures my vision. Not seeing anything else I think my plan has failed and sigh in defeat. Chambering my next round I prepare for plan B when suddenly a single beam of light shoots through the darkness, followed by the voices of my comrades.
John McGuckin ‘18
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Best we forget In Flanders fields
Our men lay dead Heroes, so the poem said For we would not know Reasons that trumpets blow
The tombstones left unread They are the dead; why do we care?
And what’s this poppy that we wear?
I’ll take it off, I’ll say no prayer
In Flanders fields Ye fought and now dead Now are no tears to shed
I’ll take no torch, instead my phone This awful flag cannot be flown
Now take your rightful bed
In Flanders fields
Luca Miraldi ‘17
Kidder Urban ‘23 8
Sonnet on Hubris We all think we know something very well Atop the world we keep a watchful eye Until we are humbled and put through hell Rather than suffer shame, we wish to die Why must man always feign having knowledge? Who could we be to rebuke and lecture? Hypocrisy yields man’s self-made bondage Hist’ry repeats; another conjecture
We mustn’t forget we submit to sin We assuredly die a common death The Word Himself did the victory win Surrendering his holy mortal breath O! Man, you are foolish, you are untaught Accept the help of God or you are naught Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
James Costello ‘18 9
Release The dream was over all too soon. The silhouette faded, inky grey into nothingness, and a blinding light exploded into vision. A piercing echo broke the silence and the girl’s eyes snapped into wakefulness. She awoke crying and in pain, willing her body to jump from the heavy metallic bed frame but remaining all at once locked in place. The tubes running from her arm became daggers pinning her to the rigid surface. Her gown was a metal plate suddenly and painfully pressing down on her, crushing her chest and shorten-ing the desperate gasps of her breath. Her head was screaming, a cutting brightness permeating the room though the lights remained silent. She screamed and a meek whimper escaped her lips, the last of her meager strength flowing out of her. The two slumped fig-ures beside her bed snapped all at once to attention. A third came running into the room after a moment’s pause, the lights flashing to a stifling life and blinding her once more. Her hands shook uncon-trollably, her body surrendering to the profound fear washing over her. She tried to cry, but no tears yielded her call. The faint outlines of each figure returned slowly, fading gradually intio the blanched scene. By the looks of it they had multiplied; four more frantic faces now crowded the girl’s vision, breaking and gesticulating wildly. The pain disappeared abruptly, the voices of her family trailing off into silence. The tears on their faces confused her. “Mom,” she tried to say, “Dad, it’s ok!” But no words came. She no longer knew if her lips moved, such was her exhaustion. Their movements became more hectic. The young girl settled into the recesses of the bed, her body assuming a comfort she had only ever dreamed of. A milky whiteness filled the edges of her vision. Her vision faded from the scene before her as her parents became silhouettes once again, soon enough disappearing into the blackness of sleep. Her dream returned.
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A calming luster tinged her new world. The whiteness no longer overwhelmed, but soothed, allowing the little girl a peace never before experienced. She once again heard that high, melodic sound. “Singing!” she thought; they were singing the lullaby her mother had hummed to her every night before bed. The tune grew louder and louder, a chorus of sweet voices carrying the sound toward the contented ears of the young child. The grey outline of a man appeared before her again, this time approaching rath-er than receding. The figure stopped. “Little one,” a deep, strong voice called gently, speaking the girl’s name before pausing. “Come to me.” The silhouette beckoned encouragingly, bidding the girl approach. Without realizing it, the girl began walking toward the voice, taking the first steps of her short life. By the time she realized the extent of her ability, she was directly abreast the man, clamoring to see his concealed face. A warm light shone on her own face, illu-minating her bright yellow dress and the delicate fabric lining her shoes. The same outfit, she realized, she had worn the day her sister was born. She looked up once more toward the man. He took the young girl by the hand, turning on his heel and walking with her slowly toward a gleaming white gate, outlined by the shape of grey clouds behind. A pit formed in the girl’s stomach, an impending dread that threatened to again consume her. She looked a final time toward the man’s face. He turned toward her, kneeling down to draw level with her large, affectionate eyes. For the first time, she looked upon his face. She saw her sister, her father, and her mother all waiting before her. She saw love in their expressions, in their countenance, in their smiles. She saw love in every part of them, and her fear vanished, replaced by a profound warmth. Tears no longer violated their perfect faces, only a glowing, light radiance. All semblance of sadness disappeared. Finally understanding, the girl closed her eyes a moment and drew in a measured, heavy breath. When she opened her eyes, the vision of her family on the man’s face had been replaced
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by a magnificence the likes of which she could not describe. A lone tear escaped her eye; the man wiped it away tenderly. There was nothing to fear. And so, resolutely, steeped hand in hand, the little girl drew toward the gates, stepping slowly onto the precipice, thinking all the while of her family. She smiled and looked to the man once more. He smiled back at her, his tender presence giving her strength. She let out a long breath and took one great, final step. The machine released a shrill, penetrating tone, and the room fell silent with shock. A speechless calm fell over the moment as an immense presence drew itself up, paused for a time, and rose away. The little girl was gone. Frank Byrd III ‘18
The Silence in the Forest Quiet is endless Bang and the world is alight Soon quiet returns Tyler Gazda ‘18
Andrew Weir ‘23 12
The Happy Place Enveloped in warmth, I take in the scene The sky of blue, the sea of green More than content to spend the day Watching the luscious palm trees sway I think not of work, nor of stress To be in this spot I’m truly blessed Lying here I know true bliss Accepting the sun’s pleasant kiss I watch the dolphin leap, the crab crawl This place should be enjoyed by all But today this spot is just for me My little slice of heaven by the sea Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
Joseph Perullo ‘22
Justin Chambers ‘18
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Darkness Shadows on my Face Darkness falls on a long Fall night You can feel the chill You can see the cold The shadow shifts The oak tree seems to disappear... The darkness is complete. There are no more shadows Only black. Deep and absolute. An abyss, Devoid of any light. It takes my breath away. Like a tidal wave, It rushes over my body and engulfs me I disappear into the night. Kevin Walton ‘20
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Sad Poem Essay (on “The Hollow Men”) T.S. Eliot was undoubtedly feeling pretty down when he was writing this poem, and lucky for us English students, he chose to spout obscure symbolism faster than he could down the nearest bottle of absinthe in order to express a sad face on paper before they invented emoji. Whether Eliot was actually trying to say anything or he had just got off his fifth reading of Dante’s Inferno and was just itching to write some fanfiction is irrelevant, because either way I have to untangle this mess of metaphorical cables that people just decided to call a poem. Firstly and foremostly, it’s pretty obvious that this poem is greatly influenced by the aftermath of the first world war; just looking at the title and date of publication could give that away. Of course, Eliot could be referencing something completely different and unrelated, but this is my essay, I make the rules. Now that we understand the real context of the poem, we have exhausted ev-erything objective that this poem has to offer. While assigning any comprehensible interpretation to this poem may be as inappropri-ate as the semicolon I am about to use; I don’t care I’m doing it any-ways. The narrative lens that I will apply to this poem is the story of a disenchanted, melancholy, godless, and most importantly, sad reality that the veterans of war have to live in. This interpretation may not fall into line with some others, but from now on it will be just me and the poem that I had really wished would just be about masculine nesting dolls. The desired impact of the poem on the reader is made quite clear through Eliot’s vivid imagery in the poem: he’s trying to make us feel pretty sad and depressed. I doubt anyone would argue that point, and it’s the use of constant, recursive imagery that really drives home this effect. Each part of the poem, the designated parts that is, contains its own distinct imagery and set of symbols. The first symbol, the one that gives the poem its name, is the symbol of hollowness, of dryness. This not only gives us an idea of the reality than many war veterans had to live through, it also represents the potential that is left in these men, or more appropriately the lack of potential. The hollow, dry nature of these men is a 15
symbol to highlight how drained they are as humans, not just physically from their time spent in war, but also emotionally and spiritually. These men are not only left hollow, emptied out by their experience in the war, they are also left barren, their voices “Are quiet and meaningless/As wind in dry grass/Or rats’ feet over broken glass.” Later on, this motif of a drained man is of course referenced with different symbols and imagery, but we’ll get there when we get there. The last thing that I wanted to mention about the first part of the poem is the last stanza, where the speaker tells the reader not to remember them as lost souls, but rather as hollow, stuffed men. This signifies to me that these men are not lost, which would be a more pleasant reality for the reader. Instead, these men still live as constant reminders, not as the monsters under your bed but the statues that you can’t tear down, the thoughts that you wish you could just forget. Part two introduces the eyes. These introduce the first emotion ever mentioned in the poem: fear. Even though we would think that the hollow men have nothing more to lose, Eliot introduces the eyes that can be found in death’s dream kingdom. To me, this represents the only fear that could be contained, the the husk of the men left behind by the war, the fear of confronting reality. Having lost everything, the only comfort to be had by these souls is to try to ignore the reality, to avoid having to come to terms with loss. Instead, they would like to disguise themselves, they would rather be as meaningless as the wind than to face the truth, and so they are lost further. The third part introduces the symbol of the stone images in the cactus land, of supplicant hands under a dying star. This part resonates nothing within me but bleak melancholy. When all is lost to these men, all that is left are images that prove to be just as empty as themselves, images that they would pray to with their dying breath. I would conjecture that these images represent the destruc-tive coping mechanisms that the veterans had to turn to in order to avoid reality, To their dying breath they pray for relief to the bottom of the bottle, each one drawing them further and further into a land of desolation. 16
In the fourth part, Eliot draws again on the eyes symbol, this time referencing their absence. The main symbol here is the “tumid river”, something obviously in reference to the river Styx. What is significant here is the fact that in order to truly pass on, one must cross the river into the valley of death, but instead, Eliot introduces certainty in limbo. This is the valley of the drying stars, the haven of the lukewarm, where those who lack life but fear death live in cowardly commune. The final part appropriately introduces the final symbol, that of the Shadow. Eliot describes the shadow as that which resides “Between the idea/And the reality”. Essentially, he describes the shadow as something that is present in the space that we do not understand between the ideas that we do. It is a shadow cast over limbo, it is a darkness that we cannot understand, but a reality that those hollow men must endure. What casts the Shadow, one might ask? Perhaps it is death, finally come to reap the lost souls. Or per-haps it is their life, whose wasted hours cast a dark shadow over the hollow men. Ryan Milligan ‘18
Charles Verna ‘18 17
I Walk through Willows Through this forest I walk On the wake of my life With these legs I push through the mistakes Remembering too well the failures’ taste. The grass is depressed Bearing the footsteps of those few ahead of me Those that once walked this forest Those that once walked to their door. My life breathes in and out of my heart My soul leaps back and forth from hell My spirit lunges forward and falls backward from heaven My feet trudge up and down for eternity.
When loss is the great motivator, And pain is the best instigator, And terror is the famed adrenaline, And love is the treacherous snare. The willows wave with the wind, which emulates the tempest inside. Their indifferent company is all that walks with me, A cruel, cold disinterest Yet their presence provides solace A vital morsel to continue I walk towards my certain salvation or doom; my door. These willowing ones don’t know, Nor care, nor empathise, With what waits ahead of me.
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Yet I smile, because they can’t know, About the world ahead, That I know too well. Until I reach my door, Until my legs break under the weight, I’ll keep marching forward Through the forest of willows. Ryan Moulton ‘18
Coleman Miller ‘21
Cole Kelly ‘21
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The Unforeseen Struggle I lie here awake When shall my suffering cease? I just want to be free Have I not been fair? Pray tell me; whom have I wronged? I just want to know Do I deserve this? I thought I lived this life well I just want answers When will it all end? Lord, please hear my simple prayer I just want your peace Suff’ring torments me I need to feel your healing O God, I need you Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
James Costello ‘18 20
Reaction to Basic Training: Poem America’s Earthly Guardian Angels They fight for us, They shoot for us, They kill for us; They are courageous for us, They are noble for us, They are mercenaries for us; They train to fight for us, They work hard to fight for us, They lose their humanity to slaughter for us; They become brothers for us, They fight as one for us, They murder the enemy for us; They live and die for us, They encounter horrors for us, They annihilate the foe for us; They serve for us, They protect us, They eradicate the devil for us; They are our protectors, Our guarantees to freedom, To liberty, To safety, To life in America; They are our military.
Joshua Jose ‘18
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My Country (To the tune of My Country ‘Tis of Thee) My country is not free, We’re under lock and key, For you I pray; There’s too much suicide, Schools full of homicide, Land where the oppressed cried, Hear what I say! Our children won’t feel free, There’s too much bigotry, My faltering faith; This path is uncertain, Chaos seems imminent, This will be our burden, I rest my case. Morgan Unruh ‘20
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Resistance of Tyranny It was a wonderful morning outside. The one you think of on a perfect day, the kind to mask all the bad things that could happen. My name is Snow. I am a Snowy Owl and a war general for the Resistance of Ice. We are from the Kingdom of Talons and are fighting against a tyrant king who murdered the previous king and asserted himself to the throne. It was during that kind of day, while the kingdom slept, the tyrant snuck into the palace and assassinated the king. It was when the sun set and we all woke up to learn that the king was dead and the one called Geirr killed the king and took over. After years of oppression, we revolted. We started a resistance and took anyone willing to fight against the new “king”. I was in the army at the time but left to join the resistance and was promoted to general because of my military experience. Fast-for-ward to three years after the start of this civil war and neither side has really made any progress. We are planning a massive invasion of the palace under the cover of the sun when they least expect it. “Brother?”, Lefir called, “How are the preparations coming along?” “We’re almost done and ready Lefir!” I responded. The plan I was working on would have the army split into three groups and attack different parts of the palace. We hope this would repel and confuse them enough so that they would split the army up into three groups to each of our groups. Their problem lies with their dwindling numbers as we outnumber them 5 to 2. Just then, Silver, my love, walked in. I forgot to mention that Lefir, Silver, and I will each lead one group in this attack. “How is everything going in here?”, she asked. “Everything is under control Sergeant Silver. Just adding the finishing touches to the plan and then we can brief the rest of the army. The end to this war is nearly upon us!”, I replied. We called for the army to meet and we went over the plan. Not one owl had any problem with the plan and all was well. We adjourned, ate dinner, and prepared to take flight in three hours.
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As the sun rose, we took off towards the palace. We broke into three teams and headed for different parts of the palace. What should’ve been an easy and undetected flight to the palace turned into an all out air battle. It was impossible. How could they have known we’d attack at this time? Lefir’s team should’ve taken out the sentries by the time we got even close to the palace. Perhaps something went wrong? Lefir would have seen the plan through, even at the cost of his life. “Ok,” I thought, “let’s assume that they were expecting us. They only outnumber us two to one so that means Silver’s team must outnumber them four to one at the best.” We didn’t defeat them, but we weren’t defeated either. We simply drove them back to the palace where they would probably regroup. We headed over to the right side of the palace to find Silver’s team, battered and nearly defeated. “It was madness. They ambushed us. I don’t know how they did it but they knew we were coming.” Silver told me. She re-counted what happened and I could tell she was shaken and scared. We had never lost so many in a skirmish like this before and didn’t really know what to do. We decided to push on. We were going to end this war today, even if it killed us. We stormed the palace, took out the guards and disposed of the inner guards. We broke into the throne room to see Geirr standing there with Lefir by his side. I felt betrayed. My own brother, the one I trusted my life with many, many time over the course of life, was standing with a killer, a mur-derer, the tyrant. “How could you?”, I screamed, “How could you betray us like this?” “There never was an us Snow and you know that!”, he retorted, “It was always you and Silver or you and our parents! You never included me and now, when we destroy your resistance, there will be no us in the kingdom either!” I could go on about how I should’ve been there for him and have included him in everything because he’s my brother, but it would all be in vain. He was too far gone and had most likely betrayed his troops and joined this tyrant. “Then you will fall with him when we are done”, I attacked.
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Silver took on Geirr in the same manner, but it was evident she stood little chance. Lefir and I took flight before I stabbed him in his wing which caused him to drop to the floor and run out of the room. I turned in time to see Silver get one good talon rake across Geirr’s chest before watching him shrug it off and deliver a talon rake across her face. She dropped to the floor and stopped moving. He turned to me, smirked, and scoffed at me before walking away. I ran to Silver and tried to cover the wound. I listened for a heartbeat and found one, weaker than any I had ever heard before. I tore off the moss from the king’s bed, put her on it, and tried to fly her back to base. Halfway there, I began to falter but two of our troops began to help. A third came over and we created an air-tight space in between us to transport her easier. When we got to base, I went to bed and tried to forget this horrible mission. Two years later, we were still at war. Geirr’s forces were nearly depleted and the end was in sight. No one had seen him since we last did that horrible day two years ago. We had been getting reports from the kingdom’s residents of his location, but every time we reached that place, he was somewhere else. One day, one of the scouts spotted him and tracked him to where he was hid-ing. He kept watch and sent another scout back to tell us so Geirr couldn’t escape. Silver turned to me and nodded that only I will go. Every time we had gone in the past, the whole army came. Perhaps that had tipped him off? A huge army is hard to keep hidden when tracking a single owl. I went to the spot and went into the hollow. The hollow expanded to a large size and he was standing there, waiting for me. “So, here at last. We meet for one final battle. A morning like the one that started everything.”, he taunted. “How’s your girlfriend’s face? Last I remember, I nearly removed it!”, he chuckled. “She’s fine. I’m here to return the favor, for her and for all you’ve terrorized!”, I retorted. He charged first and I parried his attack. We fought for what felt like hours when in reality, it was but 20 minutes straight. I struck him the same place Silver did two years ago and
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and he went for the same move, but I was ready. He swung, I dodged, and I delivered one last blow. It was a wonderful morning outside. The one you think of on a perfect day, the kind to mask all the bad things that could hap-pen. After 7 years of oppression, it was all over. No more would the name Geirr terrorize the people in the land of the living. Silver was made queen and I was chosen as her mate and crowned king. We will rule this kingdom as the previous true king did: kindly, just-ly, and fairly. We would gain the trust of the people and we would make the Kingdom of Talons great once more. Robert Young ‘18
Jacob Wethman ‘22
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Change Evading and yet reachable. Reflection of my inner demons upon my well of light Forgotten, yet substantial Echoes of whispering bounce between my high pillars of bone The light shuns, but the darkness calls It’s time for me to become Fully devoted to the darkness Change Wanted and envied But for some, unreachable Why must this light evade me? Why must this light hate me? Change Distant, ever shifting I can see it, but I’m not high enough Night calls and I turn to answer I see a face I reach for the face, and it disappears Curiosity fills me, I walk forward Out of the darkness a shadow darker than night looms I step back and turn to run But I am not fast enough. Morgan Unruh ‘20
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Pursuit One of my many aims is to seek the truth My interestsBythisgoalmayI shallchange,be forevermywill boundmayfalter
My desire to learn shall never alter I thirst for knowledge with ambition and zeal For wisdom has value that never fails I shall descend every valley and climb every hill In search of new hidden holy grails The world is rent with clashes and strife But to learn elevates one above it all TheWhomassesshallforshalltheirlookenlightenmenttothewise,theneverstrongfall
OnePassingmustonneverknowledgeceasetoislearncrucialall tothatsurvivalhecan HeWithshalljoyperishalllearnlestandhe belive,willingwithnoto needshareforhisrevivalwealth
Time ebbs and flows like the ocean’s tides Mortal masters? It bows to none With speed we must race towards our goal Although this game can never be won The collection of knowledge transcends mighty time It survives every age, outlives potent empires It Ascontinueswetrek tofromfuellifeourtointellectualnaturaldeathfires
We may not always know what is right, what is wrong But we canTo pursuealways knowledgekeepsearching,isanoblewith timequestto spend
Even if truth is not revealed at the end
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Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
Blank Page The blank page is a writer’s greatest dream and his worst nightmare. A blank page means unlimited possibilities. It can be the start of a great novel, or a short poem, or even just a proverb. Though the blank page is also the bane of the writer’s existence. A blank page symbolizes the lack of ideas a writer has. How he strives to create the next great work but his mind is blank, just like the page. Yes the blank page can be a blessing and a curse. To me, it is a
John McGuckin ‘18
Harrison Jonik ‘18
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Avarice 1:00 am I woke up to the monotone sirens blowing. The street on fire. It was evident that there was a city evacuation. “Get the kids up!” I screamed to my wife. “Run to the basement with them.” Crash! The house started crashing, basement first. “Never mind that, for it is evident that we could not go to the basement. Get in the car, buckle the kids up. Tell them that we’re going to Grand house.” “What?” my wife screamed, indicating that she did not hear me. “We are driving the Evac. Route parallel to the high-way. I will stay to ask. When you get to the sign, turn right to the air raid shelter.” “Ahh!”, my youngest daughter, Emmalyn, winced as the roof of our home, a Victorian Gothic to be specific, fell in. It became a precipice overlooking a giant mess of gargoyles made of marble, similar to those at history museums. My other daughter, Sophia, took her blanket and dashed to our car. “Pull out now!” I screamed to my wife, but she only scoffed in disbelief in return. The grand hall stairs, the ones that cascaded over the foyer, drumbled down into narly bits of stone and granite and marble. It was 9/11 all over again. All of our property. Our riches. Gone. As the sirens continued to blare, I realized that my only chance of survival was by means of escaping. I would have to leave all of this behind. As a hard move, I opened the door to my brand new Lamborghini, already dented from falling debris. I pushed down the pedal, and … The automated voice came on, “You are out of gas”, it told me “I am doomed”, I told myself. Now, I had one thing left to do. Run! But not until after going to my private study, accessing my safe vault, and taking my money. Dashing through the halls, I felt like James Bond trekking through a burning building, trying to save the victim while destroying the enemy. I only had this thought because of watching Spectre the night before, not being conscious that this would be happening to me, my family, my city, my world, my life! “Snap out of it”, I told myself. You will never get anywhere think-ing that your life is ruined. The sewage pipe exploded in the wall, causing a rivulet to form. Now, the part of the mansion that was still standing had a strong odor of waste and sewage. Not my piece of cake.
30
Finally, I got to my office where my safe was kept. I was getting impatient with the lock; the crossbar is a nuisance to reach through. When I finally got in, with money in hand, I ran and jumped through the 5th floor elevator shaft, hoping that I would survive. Down Dong Noooo! I missed the 1st floor. I landed in the basement, where the furnace was ready to blow. I knew I was going to have to die for my greediness. Putting money before life and family. “Please, God. Help Me”. I just knew that this would not work. I would die. Ian Fabris ‘24
Charles Verna ‘18
31
Salvation: Then, Now, and Forever Under God’s protection I live every day Without Him, I would have by now wasted away He restored my health without delay For which I proudly, triumphantly say The Lord is my protector, to His will I give way He blesses me with fortune and wisdom to think Confidence to in spite of danger never shrink I know He shall save me from the brink If to Death’s door I shall happen to sink So my Savior’s body I’ll eat and His blood drink I honor the Lord by my thoughts and deeds Doing my best to inspire and lead Everyday I shall profess the Creed Because for the sins of all he was willing to bleed By His glorious death hath my soul been freed Ad maiorem Dei gloriam
Gerald Wilmer III ‘18
32