Kasey Corpus

I stood there in a field 
hearing the sounds of the early birds and the wind hugging the trees
we like to call it silence, but I call It peace
there is not another soul in this wilderness but my own
and I'm free, lost in a place of forgiving water and soulful leafs,
that flow, and blow so gracefully, above my head and under my feet

Sunday morning
With adorning 
Clothes, the people come

Ironed dresses
Pants with creases
Early prep all done.

Singing starting
Hynm books parting
People slightly swaying

Preacher speaking
Hard pews creaking 
In the sunlight streaming 

People stare
Stagnate air
Try maintaining sleepless

Another song
Far too long
Children getting restless

End is near
Almost here
Yet one more rabbit trail

Eyebrows bunch
It's Time for lunch
Babies start to wail

Service ends
Meal begins
Another summer Sunday.

What is gender?
Women are pink and destined to serve men.
Men are blue, work, and provide money for the family.
Why would that ever have to be the way?

Women are strong.
Women are powerful.
Women create men.
Yet it's WoMEN.

Men have emotions.
Men can stay at home.
Men are caring.
Yet they are told they don’t cry.

Why does gender exist?
Women and men are both humans.
They both feel the same things.
They both can do the same things.

Why put labels on humans?
All it does is create divides.
The world does not need dividing. 
We are all human no matter what label we use.
Human, no matter if you're women, men, nonbinary, genderfuild, or more.
We are just humans.

By Nyx Rodriguez

The clean air is running.
Running away to a world I can’t go.
What of my future,
Will it be there at all?

The predictable weather is gone.
Gone somewhere out of reach.
What of my dreams,
Will the next storm sweep them away?

The clear night sky has left.
Left somewhere no one can follow.
What of my fate,
Will it end before I truly get to live?

By Nyx Rodriguez

How long shall I tarnish the mirror of life,
A spatter of rust on its polished steel!
 The seasons reel
 Like a goaded wheel.
Half-numb, half-maddened, my days are strife.

The night is sliding towards the dawn,
And upturned hills crouch at autumn's knees.
 A torn moon flees
 Through the hemlock trees,
The hours have gnawed it to feed their spawn.

Pursuing and jeering the misshapen thing
A rabble of clouds flares out of the east.
 Like dogs unleashed
 After a beast,
They stream on the sky, an outflung string.

A desolate wind, through the unpeopled dark,
Shakes the bushes and whistles through empty nests,
 And the fierce unrests
 I keep as guests
Crowd my brain with corpses, pallid and stark.

Leave me in peace, O Spectres, who haunt
My labouring mind, I have fought and failed.
 I have not quailed,
 I was all unmailed
And naked I strove, 'tis my only vaunt.

The moon drops into the silver day
As waking out of her swoon she comes.
 I hear the drums
 Of millenniums
Beating the mornings I still must stay.

The years I must watch go in and out,
While I build with water, and dig in air,
 And the trumpets blare
 Hollow despair,
The shuddering trumpets of utter rout.

An atom tossed in a chaos made
Of yeasting worlds, which bubble and foam.
 Whence have I come?
 What would be home?
I hear no answer.  I am afraid!

I crave to be lost like a wind-blown flame.
Pushed into nothingness by a breath,
 And quench in a wreath
 Of engulfing death
This fight for a God, or this devil's game.