The Voyager - 2014-2015 by X A V E R I A N

Xaverianâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Art and Literature Magazine ISSUE #3

t o i o m n E 1

Xaverianâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Art and Literature Magazine

ISSUE #3

2014-2015

t o i o m n E

he Mission of The Voyager is to create a publication that showcases the creative talents of Xaverian students. Through the expression of written and artistic works, the students are able to utilize this magazine as an outlet to promote themselves as published authors and artists, and as an inspiration to their peers. The Voyager started as an afterschool club in 2012, with a small group of dedicated students. They work collaboratively to create, seek out, and incorporate and enhance the works submitted into a quality Art and Literary magazine.

Editors

Students are always welcome to submit their works to The Voyager for a chance to have it published. Hope to see your pieces in the next issue!

Philip Apilan Anthony Figueroa Christopher Immiti Nicholas Loud Joseph Portelli Greg Randazzo Joseph Tadros William Woo

Class of 2016 Class of 2018 Class of 2015 Class of 2017 Class of 2015 Class of 2018 Class of 2015 Class of 2015

Moderators Mr. John Hendrick Miss. Erin Schneider

Cover Artwork: Logo Design by Christopher Immiti Cover Digital Painting by Luc Vermille 4

â&#x20AC;&#x2122;15 â&#x20AC;&#x2122;16

Forward

A note from the Senior Editor: People see emotion in many ways. Many say that emotion is a way to express your feelings, some say it’s a weakness or a strength, and there are even people who believe emotion to be the essence of what makes people interact, work, and be together. There are many different emotions which all have an effect on what we think, and do. We strive to be composed of positive emotions, such as happiness, optimistism, passion, and love. All the while, we want to avoid negative emotions, such as sadness, anger, hopelessness, and hatred. We believe that being positive is always better than being negative, but at points in our life, our happiness might be torn by sadness, our optimism may be tested, bringing forth hopelessness, our passion may not always be joy, and what was once love may become hatred. As you turn past each page in this magazine, each work of art and literature is an expression of these emotions. Perfection is nothing if you can’t express yourself. Every emotion makes you who you are, and you can’t be any more perfect than you already are. Not only happiness, love and pride, but also anger, sadness and defeat. Hopefully each story can inspire you and make you realize that life is all emotions, not only those we think are perfect. Christopher Immiti ‘15

Title Genre Author Class Year Page Voyager Logo Digital Art Christopher Immiti 2015 Cover Untitled 1 Digital Art Luc Vermille 2015 Cover A Note From the Editor Forward Christopher Immiti 2015 1 People Watching Prose Sayon Charles 2015 5 Next Stop Photography Paul Schwarz 2015 5 The Stare Drawing Anthony Figueroa 2018 6 On the Insufficiency of Words Poem Will Kay 2016 7 Love Poem Karol Skrzpa 2016 8 Cherry Blossom Photography Philip Apilan 2016 9 Life Through A Lens Poem Kenneth Otten 2016 10 Photo Filter Photography Kyle McGloughlan 2016 10 Different Prose Nigel Epps 2015 11 The Secrets to Success Prose Patrick Saint-Amour 2015 12 NYC Rising Drawing Marvel Delva 2015 13 The Room Drawing Richard Montanez 2016 14 The Unassuming Musician Prose Sam Eglowitz 2015 15 Red Axe Print Nick Lagalante 2015 15 Alive Lyrics Adney Silva/Giovanni Linea 2018 16 Forest Falls Photography Steven Lezamis 2015 16 Deep Sea Patrol Painting Alex Cuniglio 2017 17 Basketball Poem James Kelly 2018 18 Human Poem Niccolo D’Apollo 2016 19 Futuristic Soldier Drawing Matthew Mooney 2018 19 An Adventure Awaits Poem Philip Apilan 2016 20 The Flight Photography Thomas Nestor, Jr. 2015 20 Your Deeper Sense Poem Anthony Figueroa 2018 21 Gotta Get There Poem Matthew George 2016 21 Practice Photography Dylan Morano 2015 22 Gotta Get There Poem Matthew George 2016 22 I Don’t Want You Poem David Pena 2016 23 Girl at Sunset Photography Eddie Wikinson 2015 23 One Destiny Poem Nikolaos Sinopoulos, Jr. 2015 24 Pink Sunset Photography Mike Pearstien 2015 24 Gate of Peace Poem Sammy Hassan 2015 25 The Sunset Photography Joseph Willis 2015 25 Midnight Walk Poem Nicolas Loud 2017 26 City Walking Photography Brandon Lazo 2015 26 Hidden Shapes Drawing Nieslen Gilbert 2017 27 A Walk Through Nature Into My Subconscious Poem Sam Neibel 2016 28 Nature Reflection Photography Peter Romano 2016 29 Plastic Gold Poem Nicolas Loud 2017 30 Golden Sky Photography Mario Kennedy 2016 30 Wind in her Hair Drawing Christopher Sammon 2016 31 D’oh-nuts Photography Peter Romano 2016 31 Opportunity Poem Marc-Olivier Etienne 2018 32 The Bench Photography Dylan Morano 2015 32 Untitled 2 Digital Art Luc Vermille 2015 33 2

Untitled 3 Digital Art Luc Vermille 2015 33 Coco Chanel Prose Isaac Jean-Fransois 2016 34-35 Beauty Poem Thomas Abramson 2015 36 Survival of the Fittest Photography Brandon Lazo 2015 36 Solid Gray Drawing Xavier Brun 2016 37 The Happy Family Painting Richard Montanez 2016 37 Memories Poem Michael Ameer 2016 38 Miss You Photography Sam Eglowitz 2015 38 Hall of Change Poem John Chianchiano 2018 39 Empty Hall Photography Armend Armitage 2015 39 Haze Poem Brian Coleman 2018 40 Reflection Photography Dylan Morano 2015 40 Blue Fear Drawing Erik Andressean 2015 41 Ode to a Soldier Poem Sean Dugan 2018 42 Flying Flag Photography Thomas Nestor, Jr. 2015 42 Kicks Poem Michael Gomez 2018 43 Nice Kicks Photography Anthony Abdulrahman 2015 43 Farewell Poem Dylan Ditta 2015 44-45 Morning Flower Photography Vlad Colombo 2015 44 Old Bear Drawing Marvel Delva 2015 46 Life Poem Kennie Morales, Jr. 2015 47 Open Sea Photography Bryan Powers 2015 47 Time Poem Nicolas Loud 2017 48 Flower of Peace Drawing Joseph Portelli 2015 48 The Layers of Art Drawing Michael Perlstein 2015 49 Drifting Away Drawing Erin Ching 2016 50 The Universal Laguage Prose Phil Passante 2015 51 88 Keys Photography Nicolas Loud 2017 51 Unopened Poem Michael Ameer 2016 52 Last Light Photography Steve Thomasen 2015 52 Pineapple Dream Drawing Kieran Regan 2016 53 A Student’s Stress Poem Joseph Vasile 2016 54 Patterned Café Drawing Brandon Gjoni 2016 54 Girl Drawing Erik Andressean 2015 55 Reconstruction Poem Gregory Randazzo 2018 56 Still Standing Photography Thomas Powers 2015 56 Stage Dreams Prose Mike Sally 2015 57 Inside My Head Drawing Christopher Sammon 2015 58 The Accountancy Shanty Poem Gregory Randazzo 2018 59 Beauty of Nature Poem James Pisciotta 2016 60 Japanese Landscape Photography Paul Schwarz 2015 60 Hachiman Torii Digital Art Roy Isber 2018 61 Reflections Poem Philip Apilan 2016 62-63 Handshake Drawing Arthur Chen 2018 63 IT Scupture Daniel Petric 2015 64 The Circumstance of an Antisocial Boy’s Fate Prose Eric Ching 2016 65-69 Walking in the Garden of Eden Drawing Marvel Delva 2015 69 Afterward Prose Nicolas Loud 2017 70 Endless Horizons Photography Nicolas Loud 2017 71 3

People Watching By Sayon Charles ‘15

Growing up in a small town, I was caged in to the patterns of the “suburbs.” When I left my home in Staten Island for my commute to Brooklyn, I did much more than use the train and bus. While traveling, I crossed paths with hundreds upon hundreds of people on a daily basis. All of them had a different upbringing, and different goals. Observing the commuters in the subway station left me pondering about the different routines of all the people around me, and where they were going.

“Next Stop” by Paul Schwarz ‘15

“The Stare” by Anthony Figueroa ‘18

On the Insufficiency of Words by Will Kay â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;16 Before, I never had anything but words, My only companions omni vigilant and perfectly crisp. I could describe anything with my words. I commanded them with simplicity and style. Imagine my bewilderment when they no longer sufficed, When they no longer erupted from my pen. No word could capture my rapture, No stanza could stand for my passion. No sentence could explain my infatuation, Not even hyperbole explained my love. She turned me into a man of few words simply because they arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough.

“Love”

By Karol Skrzpa ‘16 I’ve always dreamed of a great love.

I thought that this would never happen,

Doubted myself and all of my possibilities, Leaving behind all the unpleasantness.

I cut out from the other world, Starting to go a new route from the morning. I gave up on all the girls,

I began to live only for myself.

But one day a miracle happened.

I met someone good. It was a beautiful angel who opened my heart. First, she knocked gently;

I opened the door of my heart,

And I let her into my interior.

She knew what I really desired. She told me the truth.

It was in my heart probably forever,

Because I threw away the key and locked the door handle. I love the rhythm of the dance it directed.

You might be afraid to believe in your dreams, But they will eventually happen.

“Cherry Blossom” by Philip Apilan ‘16

Life Through a Lens by Kenneth Otten ‘16

Looking at life through pixels Is compared to as a window You didn’t actually arrive Judging life through a third eye Showing only what you’ve seen Kills the real beauty in between A deception made you blind Like being played in your mind The beauty in our pockets Has blinded us all the while All we needed to see beauty Is look up and smile As we step forward we take a leap back Technology is causing us to backtrack Look up for a second, just only one And see what you missed under the sun Felling reconnected to life While disconnected to phone You see beauty all around you Even when you’re closest to home.

“Photo Filter” by Kyle McLoughlan ‘15

Different

by Nigel Epps ‘15 In my eyes, to be content is to be stagnant. I’d much rather be happy. Clinodactyly is what they call the relatively harmless genetic mutation I live with that causes my pinkies to be slightly crooked. Of course, during my days in elementary school and middle school, this was a much bigger deal to me than it is now. At school, a younger version of myself sat in class, nervous to put my hands flat on the desk I sat in, because the girl I had a crush on sat next to me and I didn’t want her to think I was weird, or even gross. Because of this, shame plagued certain hours of the day and health complications lurked around the others. At home, the green oxygen tank was my best friend for whenever I would go into convulsion episodes, gasping for breath that was nowhere to be found. As a kid who hadn’t even reached his double digits in age, I would often find myself hospitalized. Now a senior in high school, I’ve virtually entirely grown out of my asthma, and a rude remark is met with a benign laugh. Clinodactyly. What an odd word; meaningless to some, but to me, a tangible testament that symbolizes that I will always be different, and different is polarizing. Different is where I’m happy, and different is what I now embrace.

The Secrets to Success by Patrick Saint-Amour ‘15

I believe that if you are great at something, you don’t need to talk about it. That field will be able to talk for you and guide you to where you want to go. I believe talking about oneself is very self-centered, and if you are a great person, you will be talked about and not talked of. A great man once told me, that “success isn’t measured by how much you make, but by how many people’s lives you have touched and affected for the better.” That is what makes you successful. I am a 17 year old teenager and currently live with my mother; my parents are going through a divorce. I have 2 older sisters and a big brother. They all have children except for one of my sisters. I am also a godfather. I feel like I have a lot of shoes to fill, and a lot of promises to be filled and legacies to be created. I think we are all destined for greatness, and we just need to figure out why we are here. Life is short so let’s try to live every moment to the fullest and stop falling behind, letting opportunities pass us.

“NYC Rising” by Marvel Delva ‘15

“The Room” by Richard Motanez ‘16

The Unassuming Musician

by Sam Eglowitz ‘15

I was walking home from rehearsal at about 9:30 the other night, and I had my guitar case strapped on my back. I stopped at McDonald’s to grab a few dozen chicken nuggets for dinner, and as I was walking to get in line, an elderly man got up and stopped me. He asked me what kind of guitar I had and if he could see it, so I set it on the table, unzipped it, and handed it to him. My guitar is a rather dated and cheap model and he asked why I didn’t have a better one. I was a bit weirded out at this point, but I continued the conversation by telling him I was working and saving up for a new one. I told him about some other equipment I wanted to get, and it turned out that he was heavy into music himself. We talked about everything from A to Z - the best strings to use, writing music, our favorite bands and artists. It was pretty obvious the guy knew his stuff. Toward the end of our conversation, I asked what other experience he had with music. He told me that he was a producer for twenty years throughout the seventies and eighties, and had even worked with a couple bands I’d listened to. I asked him what advice he could give to an aspiring seventeen year-old musician, and we talked for another half hour. We were cut short by my Aunt calling my phone, and demanding I come home, so we said our goodbyes and I left. As I sat on the subway on the way home that day, thinking about the man, I felt a rumble in my stomach, which reminded me that I never did get those McNuggets!

“Red Axe” by Nick Lagalante ‘15 15

Alive

by Adney Silva and Giovanni Linea ‘18

Alive, disguised from our human eyes, strives from the outside, it’s all alive. This world is alive, more than we know. Places we’ve never been, still continue to grow. Look outside - the world is alive, All you gotta do is just open your eyes. Every single tree blows in the wind. Far from where we feel the breeze on our skin. Movement without consciousness from objects without consciences The greatest things are farther than where we can be on top of it. Alive, disguised from our human eyes, strives from the outside, it’s all alive. Broken beings bring bruises to the body of earth. When you break an arm, tell me, does it hurt? Empty plains where forests once grew, Money made from paper that came from a being that we slew. We trade in beauty for an invisible value. There’s a need for a trade-back but we would never know how to To live without money, sure life is a bore, Where we live is being destroyed and yet we still want more. The world is alive and that’s we can’t see; It never asks why and still it’s more alive than we could ever be. Alive, disguised from our human eyes. strives from the outside, it’s all alive.

“Forest Falls” by Steven Lezamis ‘15

“Deep Sea Patrol” by Alex Cuniglio ‘17

BASKETBALL by James Kelly ‘18

Watch the men run down the court, All of them trying for points. Dribble, pass, and shoot Until the buzzer sounds. One team is victorious, The other… defeated.

“The Game” by Dylan Morano ‘15

Human By: Niccolo D’Apollo ‘16 From spear to gun, From wheel to tank, And from hut to skyscraper, We strive to advance, To innovate, And to create.

“Futuristic Soldier” by Matthew Mooney ‘18 19

An Adventure Awaits

by Philip Apilan ‘16

Alas, a new journey Another new adventure Onto a path to parts unknown Toward a place where we never been

I go forth to a place across the globe Across the ocean to new heights, New experiences I am nervous

New culture, new traditions New lifestyle, new language A path that leads to a new memory to share A path that we are chosen to take

Nervous to meet the new memories That are waiting for me Nervous about the thought Of touching the clouds for many miles Soaring like angels

What I leave behind is My family, my friends, my comfort What I leave behind is a place Filled with people whom I know A place where I know A place where I spent my entire life

At the end of this nervous path I know and seek for beautiful mountains, Luscious and exhilarating life, Sparkling water that springs out, An amplitude of warmth In the hands of new people.

“The Flight” by Thomas Nestor, Jr. ‘15 20

Your Deeper Sense

by Anthony Figueroa ‘18 I will kill you, slowly feeding Off your troubles and regret, Silently leaving you greatly upset. I corner you, Trying to suck your life dry … At least that’s my alibi. In killing my victims, I am number one. Victims cannot hide or run. I slowly reveal myself as I grow. When I’ll strike nobody knows. Over flooded with emotions. My victims become weak This is when I am at my peak. And when I am done, I leave my victims a mess. You’ll start to notice that I am stress!!!

“Your Deeper Sense” by Anthony Figueroa ‘18 2121

“Practice” by Dylan Morano ‘15

Gotta Get There by Matthew George ‘16

Don’t mind ridin’ the bus Don’t mind taking the train Don’t mind waiting or walking here Or running through the rain I gotta know where to go ‘Cause I want to let them know That there’s competitiveness on every single basketball court So, hey I gotta get there, as fast as I can I gotta get there, because you know I’m a fan I gotta there, so please understand You know there’s always action and athleticism sitting on those front rows seats Do it just to get there. The sense of adrenaline Is more than you can bear Cause there’s a championship on the line Whoever can make it to the end can eventually win it all So you gotta get there.

“I Don’t Want You” by David Peña ‘16 I don’t need you or your love I survived before you and I’ll survive after you I don’t need you like the plants need the sun I don’t need you like a child needs his parent I want you like a child wants a toy I want you like an entertainer wants an audience I want you like a dog wants its bone I want you like a baby wants its mother I want you without any strings I want you just to see you I want you just to love you I want you just to be near you For this reason, I need you I need you to bring a smile to my face I need you to keep me from my depression I want you to love me

“Girl at Sunset” by Eddie Wilkinson ‘15 23

One Destiny

by Nikolaos Sinopoulos Jr.‘15 Thinking of you, wherever you are. We pray for our sorrows to end, and hope that our hearts will blend. Now I will step forward to realize this wish. And who knows: starting a new journey may not be so hard, or maybe it has already begun. There are many worlds, but they share the same sky — one sky, one destiny.

“Pink Sunset” by Mike Perlstein ‘15

Gate of Peace by Sammy Hassan ‘15 You left me alone but not for long. You saw the heavens with the Golden Gate of Peace, But refuse to accept your fate. You’ve escaped from heaven just to watch over your son as he grows. I think I saw you, when the sun and moon rise I can feel you, When the winds blow I can feel you, as I wish for the winds to return, And stop by my side once more. I know I can’t see you but I can hear your voice echoing in my ears. But, I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I reach my arm out hoping for you to touch my hand, Realizing we can’t connect. I’m living and you left me alone with sorrow and misfortune. But your face is still clear because you are my mother, But as your son, I’m telling you it’s time to go back to your new home. The heavens are calling, They call your name telling you to come and join them Beside God, who has given you this second chance to live with Him. Your son is with you and you are with me. Nothing will sever the bond between us, as I am your son. Now, go to the heavens through the Gate of Peace Up there you see everything you seek including your own son. When you died, you witnessed me cry, as did you when the night rained. Your tears caused the storms to thunder And when I stopped crying I heard a woman yell my name. That moment I knew she came, as I prayed to myself, hoping it was my mom I told God to let there be a sign it’s my mother, Let there be a crack on the sidewalk so I know she’s where she belongs As I open my door I see the crack and I see my mom I run to her crying with tears of happiness as I hold on to her tightly. I never let go...

“The Sunset” by Joseph Willis ‘15

Midnight Walk by Nicolas Loud ‘17

Beat life, street life Things been getting me down Street light, city life Things are bound to turn around Hooded strangers and fallen angels Stumble down the avenue Drenched in defeat, they walk to broken heart beats With no chance to start anew Foggy moonlight on the city skyline Helps to hide the pain Of love and dreams that always seem to slip away

“City Walking” by Brandon Lazo ‘15

“Hidden Shapes” by Nieslen Gilbert ‘17

A Walk Through Nature Into My Subconscious by Sam Neibel ‘16

Walking alone in the jungle The immaculate silence, broken by a wet slosh Every step taken in to these untamed depths Leaving society behind for this new frontier No understanding of what lies ahead I take the plunge I’m now alone I take off like a puma Small plants trampled underfoot Legs lashed by vines as I run faster Jumping rocks, ducking branches With no desired end, I run As I go faster the fog thickens Smothered by the clouds I push myself to my limit Suddenly, a loud crash A broken branch stops me dead in my tracks Looking around, I see nothing but I hear... Water flowing... Dripping I find myself walking Following the sound to a small oasis A waterfall leading into a small still pond It’s like a pane of glass Untouched by the outside world Rocks jut out from the depths of the water Others reach around the sides of the waterfall Plastered in moss, damp to the touch The cool air brushes against me As I stand there, I am speechless Staring at this raw scene of nature Awestruck by serenity I’m overcome with a wave of emotion Of something only few have ever grasped I can’t identify this feeling But in my heart I know its identity I have found peace

“Nature Reflection” by Peter Romano ‘16

PLASTIC GOLD

by Nicolas Loud ‘17

Loving hatred Hopeful desperation Honest unfaithfulness Truthful lies Unfelt emotions Empty hearts Meaningless poetry Plastic Gold

“Golden Sky” by Mario Kennedy ‘16

“Wind in Her Hair” by Christopher Sammon ‘16

“D’oh-nuts” by Peter Romano ‘16 31

Opportunity

by Marc-Olivier Etienne ‘18 A man, the ocean, Still waiting for the motions, Opportunities. Peaceful patience; waiting waves, An open canvas, future stays. To where do the winds blow? Oh, to where did our paint go? Fleeting first, flying fast, Our hopes and dreams never last. But, oh, so lucky are the very few, Whose hopes and dreams are born anew! Their might to fight Overpowers life’s blight, For their dreams flourish Over a world so boorish. Keep your hopes high, For the world’s end is not nigh, It’s not time to die! It’s time to fly!

“The Bench” by Dylan Morano ‘15

“Untitled” by Luc Vermille ‘15

Coco Chanel by Isaac Jean-Fransois ‘16

The rush was incredible. Running full speed down the hallway I was focused on one thing and one only: this time it was going to work. I approached the landing, stretched out my arms and leapt; and that’s where I jumped into my first problem. I was sure that this time I was going to fly. And when I hit the steps, I remember thinking that maybe I never would never succeed. Maybe I would never have any super power. Maybe I didn’t have what it takes. You see, I was completely devoted to my craft. I had made my own mask, developed my own slogans, and I even created a name! I was going to be “Coco Chanel.” That’s when I sashayed into my second problem - Coco was not like other super heroes. Flipping through comic book pages and cartoon channels, I knew that Batman and Superman wouldn’t be too fond to work beside...“Coco Chanel,” the superhero whose power was to create the perfect outfit for those poorly dressed. I didn’t know why they wouldn’t then, but I do now. Although Coco Chanel could envision what went with the best perfume, he couldn’t leap tall buildings in a single bound. He could offset a dark outfit with a bright scarf, but he couldn’t read minds, and he couldn’t see through walls. I realized that I couldn’t either. And I realized that the same way Coco Chanel didn’t fit in as a superhero, I just didn’t fit in with the kids I went to school with. These walls were impenetrable. The walls followed me through junior high and into high school. They got stronger, larger, and at times, seemed insurmountable. Today’s superheroes, although indispensable features of everyone’s childhood, do not represent the diversity of people in our world. Instead, they represent stereotypes of race and gender, which may be harmful to many children growing up, the same way they were to me. I can remember countless times that these stereotypes got me. I would walk into school disinterested in learning, not because I was unintelligent or lazy, but because I was more interested in making it through the day without a punch in the face. I wouldn’t be able to participate in class discussions because I was afraid

that I would say the wrong thing, the wrong way, or about the wrong topic. My mind was constantly spinning, and the question kept coming to mind, “Why am I different?” Why couldn’t I just be the football loving, girl crazed, muscular guy that everyone was saying I should be? It was more frustrating than anything I have ever encountered in life. It has taken me 16 years, countless sleepless nights, more fear and stress than I care to admit, to be able to stand in front of you all, a room full of strangers and say, “I am gay.” Why was that so difficult? Why would a two word phrase take 16 years worth of courage to form? Being judged for not fitting in was a powerful, and at times a painful deterrent. Like it did for me, this issue affects millions of children growing up in our society everyday. I can’t come up with a solution better than that proposed by the Supermodel of The World, Rupaul, who said, “When you become the image of your own imagination, it’s the most powerful thing you could ever do.” Basically what is being said is “be you!” Actress Emma Watson echoed similar sentiments when she spoke to the UN General Assembly as a Goodwill Ambassador for Women. She said “If men don’t have to be aggressive…women won’t feel compelled to be submissive, if men don’t have to control, women won’t have to be controlled. Both men and women should feel free to feel sensitive and strong. It is time that we perceive gender on a spectrum…” Just like CoCo Chanel was great at what he did, I am great at things I do, and I can be great at even more if I let myself, and so can you. That simple and personal decision is enough to rob the power from marginalizing stereotypes. By doing things that you enjoy and are good at and not giving credence to the “stereotype,” you are in turn attacking the idea of stereotypical masculinity and femininity. They were built by people subscribing to them, vilified by those of us whom they hurt, and will only be changed when we make the conscious decision NOT to allow them to control our lives, not to be afraid. Heroic courage, and nothing less. Author Marianne Williamson sums it up perfectly when she says, “As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence will liberate automatically liberate others as well.” Heroic courage, nothing less. Our will, our ability to speak up, is the solution. I am. You are. There’s nothing more heroic than that.

Beauty

by Thomas Abramson ‘15 Such beauty offered at life’s hand, I don’t always think to take it. Preferring the darkness, For it offers less illusions, But delves in absurdity, nonetheless. A universe of chaos Motion within motion. Galaxies travel at speeds, With more zeroes than worth counting. Life begins and life ends, While everything moves, Yet remains placid. Should we not want to seek Sanctity in our existence, Than to face our inevitable demise? Ours is a world full of beauty. Ours is a world full of darkness. The world is not good. The world is not bad. It simply is.

And it does not care for us, As we do not care for the ants on the Ground which we walk. But the world does provide. What we see around us Defines how we judge our environment. Dissonance of our minds Causes some to only see beauty In places where others see only ugliness, And vice versa. Seeing only beauty makes one stupid. Seeing only ugliness makes one suicidal. Seeing only platitudes of black and white Makes one ignorant. Whenever you have a chance, To see something beautiful, Use it to appreciate The goodness of life. Next time you see ugliness, Do not close it out. Use it to appreciate the beauty.

“Survival of the Fittest” by Brandon Lazo ‘15 36

“Solid Gray” by Xavier Brun ‘16

“The Happy Family” by Richard Motanez ‘16

Memories

by Michael Ameer ‘16 I remember the sunny day in our backyard When you taught me how to throw a football We laughed when I threw it over your head My father, my hero, proud and standing tall I remember the snowy day in our front yard When we fought each other with balls of snow Mom made us hot chocolate afterwards My father, my best friend, watching me grow I remember the Father’s Day in the hospital When we originally planned to see Iron Man 2 I cried even though you said you were fine My father, my concern, if only I had knew I remember the silent day in my bedroom When I lied in my bed tormented by sorrow Mom said you died that Monday after school My father, what I would do to see you tomorrow

“Miss You” by Sam Englowitz ‘15

Hall of Change

by John Chianchiano ‘18 In this hall of change, Where young boys walk, To receive an education, Where they become men. In this hall of change, Where programs were created Giving everyone opportunities.

In this hall of change, Where young girls will be welcomed To receive an education, Where they will become women. In this hall of change, As brothers, we will gain sisters. We are all family In the house of Xaverian.

“Empty Hall” by Armend Armitage ‘15

“Reflection” by Dylan Morano ‘15

Haze

by Brian Coleman ‘18 This city is a maze Never ceases to amaze Train delays, church praise Everybody’s acting like Rutherford B. Hayes Stay sharp and only get grazed Sunny days, X-rays Time after time you’re joining the craze Dog days of summer? Let me rephrase The complacency leaves you dazed Cabernets, Chevrolets, buffets These days are a malaise You obey, send in some bouquets Until you reappraise. 40

“Blue Fear” by Erik Andressean ‘15

Ode to a Soldier by Sean Dugan ‘18

WHAAM, BANG, POW, CRACK! That is not the sound of your gun, that is the sound of your bravery and loyalty for your country. You’re as loyal as a dog protecting his family. You’re as brave as an elephant fighting off a pride of lions. Your heart is filled with love bigger than the universe and there is still a lot more room. You’re a lawyer of the battlefield, protecting innocent people. Freedom and Justice are your wife and children. You fight for them. You live for them!

“Flying Flag” by Thomas Nestor Jr. ‘15 42

Kicks

by Michael Gomez ‘18 My Air Jordans cost a hundred plus tax My Space Jams have a 23 on the back The gear costs money, it ain’t free No one out there looks as good as me There’s a reason I look so fly I’ll be honest, I don’t know why I feel special on the inside I’m looking fresh, so there’s nothing to hide I keep my sneakers in my room upstairs I know I have a lot of pairs I’ve had these shoes for many years Through all my blood sweat and tears Sneakers range from new to old They’re very cool, I’ve been told My mom yells, “Throw them away!” But I really like them, so they’ll stay.

“Nice Kicks” by Anthony Abdulrahman ‘15

“Morning Flower” by Vlad Colombo ‘15

Farewell

by Dylan Ditta ‘15 Moonlit shadow rise. Please, my rose colored blossom, Smile for me once more. ... It was in the forefront of spring’s eve. Bright yellow orb of the sky caresses the world with warmth My cherry blossom was bourn to me, soil crushed by quarreling and tumbling masses, soil nourished in crimson and salt. Yet still so pink. Yet still so sweet. The velvet sun set over the horizon, giving way to the moon; who lays peace and tranquility in her wake.

From that first moment, I knew you would dazzle and gleam like a bundle of fireworks shimmering in the darkened sky with brilliance. But like a bundle of fireworks, were meant to shimmer and gleam for only but a moment, then no more.

Vanished! Once again, the sun returned, embracing you with springtime grace. But as always, time passed, and our sun began to set with a final scarlet passion. But ... With a pitter and a patter, I knew your fate was sealed. Ominous, heavy-hearted clouds gather, bearing the losses of many daughters and sons. What once came drip by drop poured forth endlessly, as my sickly cherry blossom was tossed and turned in merciless gusts. Frail and helpless petal by rain-soaked petal was smacked down without break. Finally, the rain had come to a halt, and the clouds finally parted and let peak out the luminescent moon. By the time this onslaught had ceased nothing remained, but a single petal. I stood by in shock, unable to speak; unable to cry. The final petal began to whisk to and fro, floating softly down toward me. And with a kiss, dropped to my forehead. Only now had I noticed with a gasp and a cry, that there her shadow stood; petals still intact only to say goodbye until even the shadowâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s petals would whisk into the sky. Now, it was my salt that watered the soil. For my baby was taken from me so fast. ... But the sunlit huskâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shadow rose and spoke to me just to say farewell.

“Old Bear” by Marvel Delva ‘15

Life

by Kennie Morales, Jr. ‘15 Love is for everyone, you know So make the best of it Show your true self Do not care what others think of you That what makes you, you Life, is beautiful Live freely, and do what you want!

“Open Sea” by Bryan Powers ‘15

Time

by Nicolas Loud ‘17 I think about things that I’ll never understand I just feel like I’m lost, somewhere in no man’s land. I remember all times that have come and gone; It’s been so long. I don’t know what happens, when people die. I can’t seem to grasp it no matter how hard I try. I waste all my time trying to write useless rhyme. What went wrong? Time keeps on moving, moving on. Things are bound to be improving, But I just feel like I’ve been losing For so long.

“Flower of Peace” by Joseph Portelli ‘15 48

“The Layers of Art” by Micheal Perlstein ‘15

“Drifting Away” by Eric Ching ‘16

The Universal Language by Phil Passante ‘15

Music truly defines who I am. It is the universal language of the world. It is an important thing in my life for several reasons. Music is my way of relaxing and whatever music I listen to on a particular day defines what I am feeling that day. If I’m in a joyous or energetic mood, I tend to listen to any music that has a beat that makes me want to get up and dance. The world of music is the only way I can express my true self. Most people don’t get me or understand why it’s important. It’s the place I escape to whenever I go on the wrong path and just ask simple questions like, “why did this happen,” or “what if I did this,” and so on and so forth. On the other hand, if I’m feeling depressed, upset or heartbroken, there’s nothing like good old country songs that can cure this lost soul. Most of the time, I am in a very great mood, but like everyone else, I get those moments where I feel the world is against me. One way I cope is through music. People tell me that listening to music about all the pain I went through won’t help, but in all honesty, it helps me forget. Like hydrogen peroxide on a bad cut, the words hurt and burn me, but after a while, I’m healed and cured. Writing music is another way I mend my wounds. It comes naturally to me, like a baby learning how to walk for the first time. Each and every day, the stack of lyric sheets grows and grows until it overflows with emotions that empower me. Feeling the melodies flow and understanding the meaning behind the song, gets me so immersed, that most of the time I get lost in the song. The transformative power that music has, its significance and its impact, defines who I am as person, a musician, and a composer. “88 Keys” by Nicolas Loud ‘17 51

UNOPENED

by: Michael Ameer ‘16 As the days turn into weeks, Uncertainty corrodes my mind. Lingering by the mailbox, ardently, Did it arrive or am I blind? All I can do is wait. Everything around me fading to gray. Just one letter back is all I seek; My mind has now gone astray. Many similarities appear to me – Paper and ink, knife and blood. Weeks have now become months, Brown eyes melt to brown mud.

Burning questions unanswered, I step outside and begin to walk. Biding time is no longer an option; My only choice now is to stalk. She fails to understand how I feel, Her name echoes loud in my mind. If only she knew what a letter meant, If only I knew what I needed to find. My trek to her house, now at an end. The sun above begins to set, No light can guide me home. My answer in front of me as I fret. A truth that I could not fathom, Deaden the sound of the iron horn. On the ground I see a letter – My letter to her, unopened, and torn.

“Last Light” by Steve Thomasen ‘15

“Pineapple Dream” by Kieran Regan ‘16

A Student’s Stress by Joseph Vasile ‘16

I made it through Biology. I made it through Chem. But Physics is the science class That will see me to my end. Acceleration, Force, Magnitude – Just to name a few – Must all be learned by tomorrow! What am I to do? When I look at the formulas They seem easy enough, But when I try to apply them, It gets really tough. Something is missing – “You must find it,” they say. But at this rate, The process is rough! The questions I read All sound insane. Who came up with this stuff? Who can I blame? Boxes are pushed. Objects are thrown. “Why is something once simple, So difficult?” I groan! I just plug in the numbers In the hope that I might Just get one single question On tomorrow’s test right! 54

“Patterned Café” by Brandon Gjoni ‘16

“Girl” by Erik Andressean ‘15

Reconstruction

by Gregory Randazzo ‘18 As the days become shorter, my life becomes longer. I look back on the days of my innocence; Days spent without a care in the world, Without any pressure and despair. As life took its toll,

The feelings faded.

Numbed were my ambitions. We are spirits clad in veils;

Hell is not above us nor below us; We live in it,

Writhing in pain,

Due to our capitulation

In a world that is a firestorm of emotions. But slowly, the color returned.

My mind reborn into a new light,

Woebegone ambiguity, now sees a spectrum. Nihilism became humanism;

Stoicism became our impetus; Love became our goal.

Not interfering, our voices interblending, we began:

“Love is the Power. Love is the Glory.

Love is the Beauty and the Joy of Spring. Love is the Magic. Love is the Story.

Love is the Melody we all can Sing.”

“Still Standing” by Thomas Powers ‘15

Stage Dreams by Mike Sally ‘15

I’ve dreamed of being on stage since I was a little kid. I imagined the spotlight hitting me as I gazed upon the crowds of people watching me. But I was scared to step out of my shell and be more open and outgoing.

I’d spend many days trying to develop my acting skills. I did group exercises, character development, and rehearsal. But, through all of this, I felt that I was the weakest link. All the other kids in the cast were such strong and developed actors, and I felt like I was the weakest link. I could never be as good as them.

I was so disappointed in myself because I wasn’t able to do what I always dreamed of, but I know that I have to continue to try my hardest to continue to make my dream a reality.

“Climb to the Top” by Steve Thomasen ‘15

“Inside my Head” by Christopher Sammon ‘15

The Accountancy Shanty by Gregory Randazzo â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;18

Bound by chains and stacks of paper, We count the days until we meet our maker. Our mind melts away before the coffee and polyester. Replaced by dark thoughts that begin to fester. Our hell is deep as the winter cold, We translate our pain into tax returns untold. We fight with corporate bonds and inflation, Our equity increasing in every developed nation. Dilute the earnings and devalue their assets As we audit Dow Jones and New Manhasset. The financial capitals of the world shall fall Beneath our multinationals, stocks and all.

Beauty of Nature by James Pisciotta ‘16

Down the creek, the fishes flow Over the mountains, down below. Beauty everywhere, no person in sight; Nature flourishing, from day to night. Green grass growing for miles on end; Countless trees, casting shade on them. A little wooden bridge, crosses the creek Old but reliable, this bridge is not weak. The bridge was constructed, using the wood from the trees. Nature gives back, and never leaves. Unceasing beauty, the environment brings Prosperity, to all of these things. We respect and love the gifts nature gives, Because without nature, we could not live.

“Japanese Landscape” by Paul Schwarz ‘15

“Hachiman Torii” by Roy Isber ‘18

Reflections by Philip Apilan ‘16

You’re not special, you’re not an elite You may think you are because of a title You hold or the grades you have but you’re not You are an embodiment of God beings that need improving We all have problems, each and everyone of us do But it is through these problems that we can change ourselves We are rocks and as rocks that can withstand The greatest of waves; a rock That could never crumble Rocks become mountains, and mountains are what people strive to become We are giants amongst the stars and sea We stand above others we are the shoulders among the forgotten We are the voice of the voiceless We are the eyes of the blind We are the hands of the needy We are the ears of the deaf And damn right we are the minds of compassion The truth may be hard but…we are all screwed up In order to fix it, we must change, feel open to change You...are something special Forget what others think about you Because here is what you really are You are you, forget about what others think Don’t become a wimp step up Take the hit Don’t let words beat you down Don’t let violence tear you apart They are the foolish... and you are the strong Take it and fight back Without violence Without words of hate We need action Become a man that people will follow Become a leader Don’t let the foolish stay fools, enlighten them, It is not how you get hit but how you respond You know what you have? You have compassion Trust Humility Simplicity Zeal

You are called to be the unlikely hero With all of your perfect imperfections You are supposed to be here, don’t let anyone say you don’t You are more than what you have become We all pretend Nevertheless break that isolated cocoon Liberate your captivity Give right to the blind Release yourself from prison You are not just another person’s play Never surrender We attend We laugh We respect We love And we live Believe what you read, believe what you teach And believe what you say Participate, don’t anticipate For you are a Xaverian Brother, a frater, a man able to change the world

“Handshake” by Arthur Chen ‘18 63

“IT” by Daniel Petric ‘15 64

The Circumstance of an Antisocial Boy’s Fate by Eric Ching ‘16

As I look over to the sky that shines gray, I put my hand over my head. The color of my hand isn’t its natural skin color, but is instead layered with red. I put my hand down and I feel a warm puddle. I chuckle and think, “isn’t this great? Today you won freedom.” I am supposed to see her, but it looks like I might not make it. I lay in a horizontal position in a puddle of my own blood. I look out the window again, and rain starts to fall. As I become even more motionless, tears develop and I find myself crying. I shut my eyes and say, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I couldn’t keep my promise with you.” I open my eyes, which have become almost soulless, again, and I stare out the window of the cab I am in. The raindrops that drip are cold to the touch and the ones that fall into the small puddle of blood form ripples; ripples that seem endless. When the ripples form, distortion is made to the water. The ripples seem endless, but when the ripples calm, so will the correction with the flow of the river. The same goes for fate. In the end, a person’s path will always return to their natural state. I thought my fate was already predetermined, but the course of my fate has changed, and it is all because of one person. The days leading up to my fate were not paved with level concrete, but were instead, a rocky road on which I learned. Everything started in the beginning of the school year. I went to my newly assigned homeroom and waited for attendance. “Tyler Moon,” I heard. As my homeroom teacher called my name, I raised my hand showing I was present. As the teacher continued with attendance, I put my hand down and looked across the room. I knew everyone since freshman year. Now we were seniors, and none of them were my friends; to be exact I didn’t have any friends at all. I isolated myself from everyone, creating distance between myself and them. I had almost no presence, my grades were average and I participated in no extracurricular activities. I was shadow-less. During lunch, I was called to see my guidance counselor, Mr. Reid. He badgered me because I didn’t have any extracurricular activities for my resume. I gave him excuses, but he didn’t listen. He handed me a flyer and said, “I asked my friend if he would offer you an internship.” The flyer had the picture of a hospital. As I was about to decline the offer, Mr. Reid told me he had already called my mother and informed her that I would be glad to do the internship. Unable to refuse, I did as I was told. The next day after school I went to the hospital and asked to see a man named Peter Ross, the manager of the hospital. Mr. Ross gave me a tour of the hospital, and explained to me what my duties were – I would do easy tasks and I would work on Mondays and Fridays. As I left the building, I noticed a lake next to the hospital. I could already see the reflection of the orange sunset in the calm water. Standing next to the lake was a girl who was in a wheelchair, but I noticed that even though she was bed confined, she seemed graceful.

The next week my internship started. All I had to do was sort out mail, which took the entire day. At the end of the shift, I decided to walk near the lake, and saw that she was there again. I wondered what the girl in the wheelchair was staring at. Without thinking, I approached her. She turned her head towards me. I asked her what she was watching. She then replied with a soft, gentle voice, “The lake, of course, and you?” I became nervous. Thoughts filled my mind. It was a mistake coming here - an antisocial person like me wouldn’t be able to talk to a girl. What was I thinking? I took another look at her and I suddenly became calm. I felt like I knew her. “I thought the lake looked nice this time of year so I wanted a closer look.” When I looked at her face, she seemed familiar as if I had met her before. But I knew that was impossible. I was an antisocial boy; there was no way that I would be friendly with anyone but my family. Curious, I couldn’t hold back the question any longer, “Have we met before?” The girl then replied no, but asked me for my name to be sure. “Ty-Tyler Moon.” The girl spent a moment in deep thought, but she was sure she did not know me. I thanked her for at least trying, but I was still curious why she looked familiar. She started to move her wheel chair, leaving the lake, when she suddenly stopped and turned around. “I never introduced myself,” she said. “I’m June fields. See you again maybe?” She turned around again and went back to the hospital. I repeated her name again and again, it sounded familiar. It was then I realized that was the name of my childhood friend before I became antisocial. When I returned home I was in deep thought. June Fields. We were friends about ten years ago; at that time I was about seven years old. To be exact, we were best friends who were always together, that was, until I moved. The last time I saw her was when I was ten years old on the day I moved to a different state. Seven years is a long time to be apart from somebody, maybe she forgot about me completely. Thinking about my circumstances about her only made me more depress so I decided to go to sleep. By the next month, the work I did at the hospital only became stranger and sometimes annoying. Sometimes Mr. Ross would make me run one mile to a specific cafe to get his favorite coffee. Most of the time when I was free however, I spoke to June. One day, towards the end of the month, I asked her why she hadn’t been discharged from the hospital. She responded, “I’m a permanent resident of the hospital until I can walk again.” Bewildered, I asked her, “Aren’t you permanently paralyzed from the legs down?” June explained that she was picked for an experiment that could rejuvenate her legs and allow her to walk again, but she had to be monitored twentyfour/seven. June’s surgery would happen in June, which was about seven months from that day. It was small chats over the course of those months that helped me change; I would laugh and get angry more frequent unlike before where I had a stoic expression. I was going through a phase of change, as if constant ripples were adapting the flow of my fate. By March, Mr. Ross taught me many things in neurology and what doctors have to do. I became more 66

fascinated in medical sciences. Spending my time in the hospital, I would occasionally pick up a book and study different things about medicine. One day, Mr. Reid asked me if I was doing alright. I told him that I had become more interested in the medicine. He gave a surprised look, and said, “Tyler, you’ve changed. You’ve changed in a good way.” One after noon in April, I was out on break with June, and I asked her how we became friends. She replied quickly, “Why does a person need a reason to become friends?” I told her that I wasn’t the greatest guy to become friends with, plus I was socially awkward. She told me, “A person only needs one encounter to know someone and another day to become friends. Every day you came and talked to me, even you opened up yourself to me and I did likewise.” Up to that moment, I thought my life was horrible, and that day may have been one of the happiest. It was by the end of this month that I joined the psychology club and made some friends. I was able to be myself. People took notice of that, but didn’t question what had happen, instead they congratulated me. In the first week of May, June had told me something very strange. As usual, June and I would watch as the orange sun set on the lake. June called my name, and as I turned my head towards her, she asked if she could tell me a secret. She looked at me intensely and finally muttered, “The truth is that I suffer not just permanent paralysis but also amnesia. Last month it was drizzling and I decided to see the lake, as the rain dropped down to the lake, it formed ripples. I was then reminded of a story that a friend told me once a long time ago. Although I was probably about seven at the time, he was my best friend but I can’t remember his name or how he looked. Yet for some reason, the ripples reminded me of you. I thought maybe you have something to do with my past.” I looked at her and I too became more curious about her past. The next Friday, I asked Mr. Ross if he knew anything about June’s past – what were her reasons for coming here and why did she have amnesia? Mr. Ross then said in a strict tone, “Doctors do not have the authority to share someone’s private information.” Later that day, June asked me for a favor. When I asked her what it was, she requested me to come to the park to talk like usual. The next day I wheeled June to a nearby park which was surrounded by lush trees; the scents of the flowers were potent. As we strolled down the path of the park, I found myself enlightened. I then realized that I wasn’t the person I was seven months ago. I had changed drastically. I had finally understood what Mr. Reid was talking about back in March. For the first time in my life, instead of wishing my life to go faster I had wished for this moment, this feeling, to never stop. Before we even knew it, the day ended and we returned to the hospital. We decided to look at the lake, June asked me to help carry her on to the grass so we can both sit next to each other. She turned to me, “I want to share with you the story my friend told me. There are two very close friends who did everything together, but one day one of the friends had to move far away. The other friend feared that he would never see his friend again but was then told that life is like a lake with ripples.” I stopped June and continued the story myself. It was a story I knew very well, because it was the one I had told her, I was now sure of it. “There might be many disturbances, but when the ripples calm, so will his fate, so that he can find his friend again.” 67

I looked at June and tears started to fall from her eyes, “I remember everything but these are memories I do not want!” Feeling hurt, I yelled, “What do you mean you don’t like the memories when we were children?” June scrunched up into a ball and put her hands on her head. She said, “I was the one who killed them! It was all my fault!” She then started hyperventilating. I immediately took her back to the hospital and the medical assistants took her back to her room to calm down. Mr. Ross called for me and dropped a folder on to his desk, asking me to open it. “This is what you wanted before wasn’t it,” he snapped. The folder contained June’s profile, and I looked all the way down to when she had arrived to the hospital. The document then stated that when June Fields was admitted at age ten, she was a victim of a brutal highway car crash. There were four deaths, and only one survived. It was then I realized that the reason why she didn’t want to remember the past wasn’t because of me but because of the accident. I looked down the document even further to make sure my assumptions were correct. Among the deceased also included Ron Fields and Ashley Fields, June’s parents. June became paralyzed on impact of the car crash. An after effect of the crash was that June had Posttraumatic Stress disorder or PTSD and then developed amnesia. The rest of the document was filled with her medical records and progress in the special project. I returned home with a heavy heart. What I regretted most was that I yelled at her. I knew I had to apologize to her the next day. I had hoped to apologize to her and make up with her, but fate had something different in mind. When I arrived to June’s room I greeted her like normal, but she replied, “Do I know you?” I asked her to stop joking around but then she replied, “Maybe I knew you before, I was just diagnosed with amnesia.” It was then when I looked at June’s eyes. She was serious. I started to tear up. I wondered, “What was my time with her even for?” June then added, “All I remember was the first week of September.” I met June the second week of September, which meant the time I had spent with her was gone. I looked downwards towards to the floor in disbelief. She then asked me, “All you alright?” I looked back at her and I stared at her, I then realized something important. The one who had supported me and helped me change was June. She was my best friend when we were seven and I abandoned her for seven years. Shouldn’t I be the one this time to help her, to help her realize that she isn’t alone? I came back to reality and then said to June, “We’ve met before, a long time ago and you helped me, so now I’ll stay by your side and help you.” June stared at me in disbelief, then smiled, “My name is Tyler Moon.” I later found out from Mr. Ross that they believe that right after June regained her memories, the stress was too much for her to take and she forced herself to forget again. I spent the next couple of weeks visiting June every day. On the night of the surgery, she asked me, “Tyler, after the surgery would you still walk next to me side by side? It’s embarrassing but I don’t have anyone to ask this but you.” “Of course!” I replied. On the day of June’s discharge, I got a taxi to take me to the hospital. The taxi took the fastest way, to get there because I was so anxious to see June. I was immediately reminded of what had happened to June’s family. But I decided to avoid thinking of that – I was only a few days away from graduation, I was going to go to college and study medical science. Thinking about that made me realize that I would be away from June, and I might not get a chance to see her. But then the story I had told June when we were small popped into my mind – the very same story that broke her from her amnesia and put her in 68

it again. My mother had told me the story when I was very small; the story of the two friends was something that was passed down from my family. I didn’t like the ending so I changed it to the one that I liked. The real ending was that the two friends met in heaven but never found each other back on Earth. I wanted to show June that we would meet again. At that moment the taxi I was in crashed into another car. The windows of the car shattered and was thrown lopsided. The window of the passenger cab was faced towards the sky. It was as if a truck had collided with us. I was impaled with a giant piece of glass from the window. I was quickly losing blood; I knew I was going to die. I looked out the window, and rain started to fall. As I became even more motionless, tears developed and I found myself crying. I closed my eyes and then said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I couldn’t keep my promise with you.” My eyes had become almost soulless, but I manage to open them again, and stare out the window of the cab. I lifted my hands towards the sky as if I was grabbing it. The reason why the two friends meet in heaven instead of Earth was because it is the fate of all souls to go to heaven. Remembering what my mother had told me about the story, I knew it wasn’t the last time I would meet June. As my consciousness faded, I had a vision of when I was ten. June asked me what I wanted to be and I replied, “I want to be a doctor and save people lives.” June then asked, “When I am in danger would you come and save me too?” I replied by saying, “always.”

“Walking in the Garden of Eden” by Marvel Delva ‘15 69

Afterword Is art important? To many, this may seem like an irrelevant and meaningless question that does not necessarily need answering. For the artist, however, it is a question that must be faced head on. An artist obviously believes that art is an essential part of the human experience, yet it is important for them to understand why. Many cynical people can assume art to only be an accessory to the human experience, separate from all things that humanity truly needs to survive and flourish. However, art might be just as necessary as the food we eat and the water we drink. Emotions are what set humanity apart as special, and art is the lens that allows us to observe them. Our modern society strives to be as definite as it possibly can, searching for scientific and mathematical explanations to all of the world's mysteries. But what if humanity cannot be summed up by such reasoning? Although many people believe that they understand the biology of a human being, there is more to a person than just a series of organ systems and impulses. Human beings have emotions. This is the one facet of humanity that will never be comprehensible beneath the mighty laws of science, and might just very well be the cause for humanity's great success.

Every human being is a puzzle - an infinite mystery that can never be understood.

The things that drive a human being can never be truly comprehended, whether it be hate, envy, sorrow, joy, hope, or, of course, love. While not all of these may seem positive, the sheer ability of humanity to feel any emotions in the first place is what sets us apart from the rest of creation. And this is why art is so important to us. All art, (including that in this publication), is a sort of bridge between the things humanity understands and the things we don't. It is a bridge between the worlds if logic and emotion, connecting the two without fully understanding what either means.

The true workings of emotions will never be fully understood, but all art, whether it is

a poem, short story, painting, photograph, or any other medium, helps us to acknowledge the existing and emotions and bring us in touch with the world beyond full human comprehension. Human emotions are the most powerful things in the universe, and they will carry us to places we could never even imagine. Hope. Envy. Sorrow. Joy. Compassion. Regret. Confusion. Rage. Friendship. Love.

Nicholas Loud â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;17

“Endless Horizons” by Nicolas Loud ‘17

V Submissions

All submissions, written word or artwork, should be e-mailed to Miss Schneider at Eschneider@xaverian.org or Mr. Hendrick Jhendrick@xaverian.org, or dropped off in the Faculty Office to Miss. Schneider or Mr. Hendrick. The Voyager embraces every opportunity to post the prose and artwork of any submission, regardless of format or length.

Rights

All written and art submissions are considered by an editorial team which choose submissions based on quality, appropriateness, relevance and overall impact. The editorial team reserves the right to edit material for both clarity and correctness. Original artists retain copyright of their submitted work.