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By Caleb Rainey
By Matthew Bruce    There is symbolism.  And then there is substance. 
As a writer I thought words would be my first resort. I was wrong. For the expressions I hope to relay on this page comes only after the drought of my tear ducts, and the fighting of the urge to do nothing at all. But Iseah, my dear friend, our words now serve as your memorabilia, and the vessel for your immortality.
  By Fiameta Ande   Discouraged. Between the light that beams through the tiny cracks of our built up wall & it’s unreachable height mounded by the mistakes of others, Or were they our own?   We will pretend we cannot fly. We will pretend we are blind.  
By Bryan Porter     I heard his heart, Louder than sirens,   Whispering in the wind A silent trumpet, Signaling the coming of the king,   Hearted incantation. Entered my ears, Played my arteries and veins, Until my flesh chanted.  
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