Photo - Lance Gonzalez

Open your eyes
Realize

You are being led astray
Much too focused on mistakes
Much too focused on that screen
Twenty-four hours straight a day

Wake up for just a little
See the world for what it truly is
Not filled with hate and anger
Not what you see on social media
But rather,

A solution
A beauty astounding
A beauty indescribable 

erutan

It requires you to be awake
It requires effort
It requires a deeper look
Then you’ll understand
the true meaning

Just a little of your day
Such little time it takes

Then you’ll find it worth your while
to always, 

Stay

Awake

Photo - Lance Gonzalez

Feeling a new sense of lightness

Nothing weighs me down

Just the sense of anticipation

Waiting for the inevitable.

But I still feel more alive

On edge, face to face, with the circumstances 

Escaping the torment of pressures 

That beat down relentlessly

Turning into ghosts of paranoia 

Breaking the chains of doubt.

The mountains are sharper

The sky radiant.

The clouds full and vivid.

Thousands of voices quiet

Waiting  

Photo - Tim Henriques

People, places, things,

those that we find shape our minds.

Like the hands of God,

forming each of our designs,

we become the light of those we bind.  

In conditions where dreams are formed,

streets infested with advice full of vice and fright.

Each corner, a lesson and each face, a guide.

Every hour, a new opportunity to thrive,

shaping minds each day and night.

Every item serves a purpose,

each one a different action,

or in some cases a vital distraction.

Taking away from the creative kind,

causing an influx of desolate minds.

From birth we become altered

every year, month, day, and minute.

Every person, place, and thing,

etching a new thought in rational,

shaping each mind the entire time. 

Going down the stone pathway

Listening to your favorite song

Wishing you were here 

Walking with me

Talking with me

Laughing with me

Living with me

If not with me, 

then instead of me.

I look to my left

And you are not there

I look to my right

And you are not there

I look behind me

And you are not there.

Finally, I look up to the heavens;

I see you.

In the dark, blue sky,

In the soft, white clouds,

In the pale, full moon,

In the bright, glistening stars,

I can see you.

I continue to walk

I continue to talk

I continue to laugh

I continue to live

While feeling guilt

That you cannot.

No matter what

I keep on going

As I promised I would

And I cannot take back that promise

For I cannot walk with you

And I cannot talk with you

And I cannot laugh with you

So I must keep living 

If not for me, then for you.

The rose blooms with a crimson fury

The petals red with the rage they contain

The thorns prick at an unsuspecting finger

The blood drips a similar hue, capturing the essence of the pain

The sanguine tone coats the hand and drips onto the viridian stem

The rose’s fury captivates its vessel, forcing its wine-stained agony onto its source

Any green seems restrained

All life drowned in the vermilion sea

The blood flows from the rose to the garden from which it was picked. 

A innocent white flower looks up to the chaos above

The red drips onto the ivory petals. 

The crimson leaks into it and the flower becomes corrupted. 

The clear stem grows thorns as it enthralled with the blood

Nothing clean can ever remain

Photo - James McCann

Աշխարհը քո աչքերում է, 

Լույս ու մութը այնտեղ խառնված, 

Սիրտս քեզ է միշտ կանչում, 

Քո պատկերով լցված.

Սարերը մեզ են կանչում, 

Ճամփաները բաց ու լայն, 

Քո հետ իմ աշխարհը 

Դառնում է պայծառ ու պարզ։

Երբ կողքիս ես դու կանգնած, 

Ամեն ինչ այնքան պարզ է, 

Աշխարհը լցվում է գույներով, 

Եվ սիրտս՝ բաց ու պարզ է։

Translation from Armenian

The world is in your eyes.  

Light and dark mixed there.  

My heart is always calling you  

Filled with your image.  

The mountains are calling us.  

The roads are open and wide.  

My world with you  

It becomes bright and clear.  

When you're standing next to me  

Everything is so simple.  

The world is filled with colors  

And my heart is open and clear.

Forever lasting peace,

Rights given without please,

Expression of opinion and voice,

Existence with preference and choice,

Doing the things that set you free,

Oh how I wish this was everyone’s reality,

Maybe one day this will be a normality

Photo - Julian Madilian

There is no sound, just the cacophony of your own assumptions,

The volcano continues to spark and yet, no eruption

The beats from that red drum in your chest accelerate, as all else slows

There is a fire blazing in the pit of your stomach, but it’s cold as snow

The words attempt to escape your mouth as they are imprisoned by your invisible enemy,

The thoughts and the drum, relentless with their melody,

Then you stop—take a breath and remember, it’s all in your head. 

Photo - Sebastian Salmeron

Treble, synth, and bass

floating through the air.

The ruler, unknown in space

His art is just there.

The waves are lively,

With dancers entranced

Unbeknownst to them

A hijacker takes stance

Without rhyme (and lacking reason)

The beat swaps, on a dime.

Heads turn and drinks fly

The guy at the phone, right in the bullseye.

Photo - Weston Hancock

Nothing more perfect on a summer’s day

Then to put on pads and step on the field

And give thanks to the sport we love to play

A perfect chance to which no one shall yield

Put in the work every day every night

Over and over just tackle, block, run

We will never go down without a fight

When practice pays off, it truly is fun

Promise of vict’ry you see in our eyes

Nowhere is there room for loss and defeat

We will prevail ‘till the other’s demise

Champions to the end we can’t be beat

And to see the game in a whole new light

May honor prevail to the golden knight

Photo - Alexander Alimi

In every storm there is a break

A pause from whatever turmoil may surround it

In this pause is solace, peace, and calm

Calm which would be otherwise disregarded if you go too far

The wind will rip around you as the water beats down

The sun will no longer shine where you stand

Find the center

Find a place where you can hide from this chaos

Your simple lean-to of assurance is not enough

Find the center

Avoid the toil and mishap of the environment which shapes around you

Find yourself in the place where you are safe

The storm will not stop because you ask nicely

You cannot change what is happening

You cannot bear the storm–you don’t have the strength

So just stop

And find the center 

I saw you last night, I was with you for the day, and still I miss you like you’ve died. I was with you today too. Several times.

And somehow you were sleeping in London all the while. Everything inspires the thought of you. The empty seat beside me would be so much sweeter were it you filling it.

The sun dimly setting on the clouds beyond my window, how much more I’d love the sight were you here to see it too. My bottomless cup of coffee would not be so bitter were you here.

Down to the ugly pen in my hand, how lovely would it look were you simply with me. I suppose the thought of you sleeping while I wake exacerbates my longing. I take comfort in knowing that we both exist. My eyes are open while yours are too.

What a privilege. Not now however. I am wide awake while your conscience is temporarily absent from the world. It’s funny that I could miss you this way despite our coinciding travel to the same country. So odd. I will be islands away from you shortly. 

Still, I miss you terribly. In my chest I miss you and in my soul I miss you. I know this because while in London you sleep, I find you everywhere I look. 

Photo - Sebastian Salmeron

Brilliant white buildings line the sky, shining like an eternal sun.

Blackened marble falls, crashing to the ground.

Glass everywhere one could see, with plants and fauna plentiful.

Sharp shards litter the landscape, with the smell of smoke ever constant.

Sparkling white robes are worn by all.

Red clothes lay scattered on the ground.

Cries and cheers fill the streets with sounds of life.

Now silence fills the streets. 

War brings destruction.

A period of frenzy that marks the turning point of something incomprehensible into something too comprehensible. 

But the period soon ends, and the blackened marble is worn down by the elements and turns into dust, then into nothing.

The shards of glass, the burning plants, and the clothes all follow the same process.

Even the silence, in some distant future, eventually fades into nothing. 

Nothing exists.