by Alexandra L., 15

Language is the race
in which everyone runs,
and darkness tries but
fails to outrun
the one
who’s challenge
has just begun.
Hearing sweet silly sounds
of children play,
the hunters become
the hunted when
they grow up
some odd day.
Their decadent gowns grow forever old,
and like mold they’re
and sold.
So delicate is the
language that these
children speak,
so delicate is the water
run wild in
darkness creek.
Red Bank, New Jersey