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.

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