All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Gone
Stars—don’t doubt that they align.
Invisible, they shout; endless, they speak;
silent, they dwell; heartless, they shape.
Yet, I never needed my path to be shaped
by a star. All it took was trust.
Ashes—they fall. Closing your eyes, you can smell
them; opening your eyes, you can only feel them, sense
them, not see them. Into the water, the blend. Then,
gradually, they drift away as ripples of another day.
Brown—a color that isn’t too dark or too light.
In nature, I see brown. In myself, I see brown: a grounded,
organic individual, knowing much less than the wise
color of black and much more than the lucid color of white.
It was once a time too long ago to express.
By the rocky precipices of Maine, I stood, there
with my father and my mother, glaring out at the
vast, open sea. I saw blue. Everything was blue.
By the shores, a family gathered. There, they had a barbeque,
appropriately dressed and done for the summertime. There, the child
was the noise maker, crying aloud at the wrangling roar of the waves.
Sunscreen, it was everywhere; its pungent, stifling scent lingering around
in the air. I was a child back then. But, I knew the summer wasn’t for me.
Back home, summer is an era of rest. Sitting down, rocking back and
forth on our outdoor patio, I sat there reminiscing about my night at Maine.
The stars were countable. The days were countable. Now, everything is
all a blur.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.