By Thomas Page
257
Minutes morph into
Hours as the students try
To babble different sounds
258
Students, no matter
Where they go to school, will talk
‘Bout anything but
259
Adulthood, like beams
Made from cave-dripped water,
Fuses without notice
260
A parking lot made
Barren by the revolving
Moonlight—glowing eyes
261
A stranger in the
Room is but a moment’s flare
Of sudden sunlight
262
Allusions of their
Yesteryears are our illusions—
Familiar phantoms
263
People on the road.
People on the metro-train—
Numerous raindrops
264
The autumn sun, strong
As a forge’s flame, is blocked
By tropical rain
265
Many flags fly when
Vibrantly dyed. Few flags fly
When their hue are lost.
266
A grove beautifully
Blossomed will hear the footsteps
Of numerous hopes.
267
A drop of blood in
The water is not the seal’s
Sent invitation.
