













 ((((((((((((((((((((((((((((------)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
                            POETRY . . .
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  AT THE END
    by Dena Billings
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  If the sky is a holy vessel,
  why in rains fall are You
  spoken like a blade
  let loose
  among the lambs and growing things
  to hack and choose?
   
  We latch to roots that sigh
  contented
  and continue
  but arrayed above -- branches,
  scrambled out to endings
   
  Or into an emergence. Curtailed
  in motionless retreat,
  the horizon still
  frees thorning after morning
   
  While homeless winds
  scatter seeds --
  prescience
  within a shrunken skull
  and from the roar
  of silenced landscapes
   
  Shrill green leaf
   
  spectres form
  demanding matter.
  -----------------
   
   
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  BLAZING A TRAIL
    by Dena Billings 
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  Blazing your love for me
  like a trail through
  uncharted time, leaving
  scars on virgin saplings
  to show the direction
  you took.
  You made it easy for the others
  to follow in your footsteps,
  marking me as surely
  as a map, and leaving me
  no longer unexplored,
  only unknown.
  -------------
  
  Copyright 1996 Dena Billings, All Rights Reserved.
  -------------------------------------------------------------------
  For Dena, writing is something that is done passionately; a very
  private experience. Writing poetry since seven years old, and says 
  its only recently becoming presentable. Dena likes sports, reading, 
  and the beach. Email:  dena.billings.1787@telesis.esnet.com 
  ===================================================================
  
  
  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
  BECOME YOU BEFORE YOU GO
    by Chen Wang
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  To see your body crumble onto the deserted floor,
  I cannot tremble but stand dead at the broken door.
  There in the dreaded air,
  I watch you engulf me with a last nightmare.
  Your tears, I hear them,
  slowly draining away a withered soul.
  Your blood, I feel it,
  boiling and then, turned cold.
  Afar, morbid tones lure my reluctant feet,
  Come and approach, in this hypnotic beat.
  I, thus step fallen
  after daunted step,
  took the climb and finally
  reached your haunted nap.
   
  
  Surrounded with moving chills,
  I saw your peace, lying there still.
  Oh that still light thrown onto your face,
  as if I've just stared into the eyes of death!
  Rigidly, I kiss your frosted sorrow,
  Forcefully whispering, a hope that was lost tomorrow.
  I know who you are,
  for you've become the blood of my heart.
  I know where you've been,
  for with your eyes, a life I have seen.
  Rest easy, my beloved,
  and know that I am your bitter tears,
  frozen in the steel casket,
  to accompany you in forever years.
  ---------------------------------
  
  
  -=-=-=-=-=-=-= 
  CREATIVITY
    by Chen Wang
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  I once thought about Creativity,
  that how it goes about the head,
  effortlessly.
   
  Light and elegant as a pigeon's feather,
  Elusive and mysterious as the midnight panther.
  It flies upon my pen,
  when no effort is taken;
  but lost instantly, if
  caged into reluctancy.
   
  It is unimaginable, for
  no concentration can bring forth
  its majestic infinity.
  Yet when the mind is idle,
  it always comes across,
  ever so easily.
  ---------------
  
  
  Copyright 1996 Chen Wang, All Rights Reserved.  
  -------------------------------------------------------------------
  Chen is a sophomore majoring in Computer Science at University of 
  Maryland, College Park. Hobbies include writing, net surfing and 
  weight-lifting. Email: chenman@wam.umd.edu
  ===================================================================
  
  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
  Night Screams
   by Maureen Rushton
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  I reach down into the bottom of my soul...
  and come up empty handed.
  
  I am --
  and I am not --
  I have everything . . . and I have nothing.
  I want . . . but don't need . . .
  Need but don't have . . .
  I have come far . . . 
  yet still have far to go.
  I listen . . . and no one speaks.
  I speak . . . and no one listens . . .
  I cry . . . and no one cares.
  I ache . . . and no one comforts me.
  
  I reach down into the bottom of my soul . . .
  and I find strength.
  I will . . . because I can.
  I smile . . . because it helps.
  I speak to deaf ears . . . because I must be heard.
  I count my blessings . . . because they are real.
  I go on . . . because I must.
  
  I reach down into the bottom of my soul . . .
  and I find courage.
  
  I have found a person who listens . . . so there are more.
  I listen . . . and someone speaks.
  I cry . . . and someone wipes my tears.
  I ache . . . and someone holds me.
  I go forward . . . and someone walks with me.
  I look to God . . . and feel his strength.
  
  I reach down into the bottom of my soul . . .
  and I find wisdom.
  
  I comfort . . . because I have felt pain.
  I care . . . because I have cried.
  I listen . . . because I have been ignored.
  I speak . . . because others stay silent.
  I cry . . . because there are so many who don't understand.
  
  I reach down into the bottom of my soul . . .
  and come up screaming.
  
  The terror of what was.
  The fear of what might be.
  The frustration for what is.
  My thoughts and pulse race simultaneously . . .
  I feel a scream in my mind . . .
  rising quickly in my throat.
  And I suppress it . . . because nobody will understand.
  They have all forgotten . . .
  How to care . . .
  How to touch . . .
  How to feel . . .
  How to communicate.
  
  They reach down into the bottom of their souls . . .
  and they find nothing.
  
  For they have forgotten . . .
  How to care . . .
  How to touch . . .
  How to feel . . .
  How to communicate . . . .
  
  So I will cry for them all.
  ---------------------------
  
  
  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
  MAGNETS
   by Maureen Rushton
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  Sitting opposite each other . . .
  the electricity is felt --
  They are drawn towards each other . . .
  the atmosphere . . . 
  creating resistance . . .
  and friction.
  But ultimately they meet . . .
  and touch.
  Gently . . .
  they embrace . . .
  feeling the exchange . . .
  of electricity between them.
  Fleetingly . . .
  the two opposites . . .
  are coupled by a force . . . 
  which most can not comprehend.
  They become one --
  Undeniablly . . .
  they are again separate . . .
  The electricity still lives . . .
  but the distance . . .
  between them . . .
  has subdued it.
  And when the distance lessons . . .
  they will embrace again . . .
  The electricity will flow . . .
  And they will again enjoy . . .
  the unique feelling . . .
  Of two . . .
  being one.
  ----------
  
  Copyright 1996 Maureen Rushton, All Rights Reserved.
  --------------------------------------------------------------------
  Maureen is a mother of four, and finds it difficult to get the time 
  needed to attend to her writing. (No doubt.) She has found a renewed 
  interest in writing after checking into IRC Undernet writers channel. 
  You can email Maureen at: coquetish@worldnet.att.net
  ====================================================================
  
 ((((((((((((((((((((((((((((({DREAM})))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
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