Death

Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson, published in 1890
Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me
The Carriage held but just Ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess in the ring
We passed the fields of gazing grain
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us
The dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my gown
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the GROUND
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice in the ground.

Since then 'tis centuries and yet
Feels shorter than the DAY
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.


Faced with two Choices by Kris Stasik

As the wheels turned on and on

And moon entered the sky

Death turned around and faced me

And stared into my eyes.

He did not need to offer

For I already knew

The complicated dilemma

He was to put me through.

I had a choice, you see

I was not fully dead

I could lie within the ground

Or ride with him instead

He needed a companion,

For his never-ending ride

 A life of immortality

With a partner by his side.

I looked up to the stars

And contemplated in my head

To ride with him to eternity

Or to be in a grave instead

I turned around to face him

Eyes piercing into his

I took a slow breath and replied

“I am not meant to live.”

Double Life

today is going to be a pain

wishing and hoping you had something to gain

tension rises, troubles erupt

making your day go corrupt

you fail your exam, you miss your class

you slip down the stairs and fall on your ass

loosing control, you break down

praying you day will just turn around

today is going to be a breeze

you take it in stride and fill it with ease

problems fade, worries disappear

you live your life without any fears

you ace your test, you're early to class

your day turns out to be a blast

you're filled with joy, and full of bliss

this is a day you will surely miss

this is your destiny

your fate written in the stars

there's no changing, no alteration

you have to except who you are

you must be a Gemini.

New Perspective

Original: I tried to move but I couldn’t. I tried to raise my arms, lift my legs, roll my ankles, wiggle my fingers, but it was impossible. I couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. I was trapped; paralyzed inside my own body with my mind as the only functioning object. Panic set in. What’s happening? Why am I like this? Where is everyone? Lifting my incredibly heavy eyelids seemed to be an improbable task, as if I were lifting a 200 ton whale instead. I wanted to scream, break the silence and try to wake up from this nightmare. But I couldn’t. This wasn’t a dream; this was reality and whether I liked it or not there was nothing I could do. Suddenly, as if someone turned on a switch, I felt something. Dozens of fingers reached under me, trailing along my back and sides like spiders scurrying around. Voices danced around my ears, but they were too distant to comprehend. Abruptly I was flung into the air, with dainty fingers supporting me, and then placed down onto a bed. I felt an endless supply of pillows beneath me, taking my shape as I laid on top. I peeled back my eyelids and a glaring light flooded my vision. Faces began to take shape, each one more different than the next, with their wide eyes staring at me, piercing into my soul. One woman smiled and put her hand on mine. I blacked out.

Revision: I watched her as she laid there. Even though she wasn't awake, nor could she move her body right now, I could tell there was was a look of pain upon her face. She must have been panicing; I know I would be. Even though I have helped assisst in these procedures many times before, each person was different. They had a different atittude, a different effect, a different process. Me being only a doctor meant I only knew the scientific aspect of the procedure, not the emotional part. I couldn't understand how this young girl felt right now or the questions she must be asking. She looks so helpless, so fragile. Along with my fellow colleagues, I reached my hands under her and helped transfer her from one bed to the other. When we put her down her eyes flew opened and looked up at all of us, wearing a look of confusion and pain. I stared at her and when she looked at me I smiled and put my hand on hers. Then she fell unconcious once again.

What's The Time?

Time.

Noun - The indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

Verb – Plan, schedule, or arrange when (something) should happen or be done.

Synonyms – age, season, epoch, hour, term, date, era

Or so it is defined by Google. But time is not just simply that. Time is more. Time is the thing we love but the thing we also fear. It is what we need but not always what we want. It contorts itself, swimming all around us in our minds, in our soul. Time can end up being our greatest friend or our worst enemy.

Time is a beauty. As she wraps her delicately pressed arms around you, you become encompassed in her; suffocating yourself in all her wonder. You realize that you can’t get enough, you want more. And then not just more. You want it all. You want all the time you can possibly have, spending it as you please. Whether you need more time to work, more time with a loved one, more time in your day, you eat it all up. Time feeds your intense hunger, but never truly satisfies. You get lost in yourself, lost in time, until at the end of the day, you are just lost. Time constantly gives, but at a cost.

Time is a curse. With her powerful rage and deep fury, time can leave us at a state of perplexity. Just as she can give you time, she can also take it away. She can grab those precious moments right out of your hands, pull them back and keep them as her own. She can have you begging on your knees, degrading yourself to petty and unworthy. She can speed up time when you don’t seem to have enough, all while laughing down on you wearing her cruel smile. Time can come to haunt you, lurking around every corner unable to escape this life full of misery. Time will relentlessly ruin your life, making you forever wishing you never had an encounter with her. Time is destruction.

Time is a burden. Sometimes she gives you more than you need, more than you want. At times you wish you had less just to get to whatever is next. She can make minutes feel like hours, hours feel like days, and days feel like years. You want to get away but you can’t. You’re stuck playing this idiotic game with her, stuck withering away. And just when you thought she’s gone, she’s back again giving more time to waste. Time is an encumbrance.

Time can be a helping hand or a villain to escape. At one time or another she will be both to you. Time is always there, ever-changing and unexplainable. Time is a mysterious being; nothing is ever truly known about her. While half the world wishes they had more of her and the other wishes they didn’t, in the end what she does is her decision.  Time is much more than that simple Google definition. Time is a mythical being unlike any other, who is always with you no matter what.

Tayari Jones

I wasn't at all excited when I realized that we had to attend a mandatory book reading at Foster Auditorium. I wasn't thrilled for three reasons; first, I hate having to do things when they are mandatory, I like the freedom to make my own decision, secondly, my last experience at Foster Auditorium didn't please me, and thirdly, I had no idea who Tayari Jones was besides from a reading we had for class. At seven o'clock, I dreadfully dragged my feet to the reading expecting the worst.

As the reading started, however, I was quite surprised. Tayari Jones's voice was rich and powerful, which kept me attentive and drew me in. As she read through her novel I got lost into her world; I myself became a character. Tayari Jones spoke with such passion and intensity about her characters and the story itself, that it became clear that this was a reality to her. She was connected to her book; the setting, characters, plot. I was immersed in the story, finding myself complaining when she decided to stop. I never thought of writing to be a fun career choice; nevertheless, after attending this reason I realized that even though writing can be a struggle, it can be rewarding in the end.

During her Q&A session after I learned about the techniques and steps she goes through to write her novels, which I can now try when I write. Dialogue and the story itself is better read out loud and it's okay if I need to cut pieces out, as long as it helps my final product. Tayari Jones really showed me what it's like to be a part of what you've written and I must say that I am now so glad that I went.

She Has The Magic Touch

I stared off in disbelief. How could this be over, I asked myself, this can't be the end. But alas, it was. While my mind was busy turning over and over, running one hundred miles a minute, I tried to remember how I ever let this happen in the first place. Droplets of water fell onto the palm of my hand and I realized that tears were gently sliding down my rosy cheeks. Why did this affect me so much? Why am I losing control? And then it hit me. I won't ever be able to cast a spell again. I will never again be able to experience the thrill I got from dueling wizards or the pride I felt from taking down a mountain troll. I can never again fly away on a dragon, compete in a treacherous, thrilling competition, win the house cup, defeat the basilisk in the chamber, become a fugitive, meet some interesting people, make lifelong friends, and save the world. What am I going to do, how will I survive? I knew I was being over-dramatic, but I didn't care. I was lost in my own world, in an endless sea of emotions. I didn't know what to feel, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. I was lost.

"Kris, are you okay," my mother asked me, "you look baffled." She came across me lounging on the swing out back, staring off into space. I just looked at her, my heart filled with grief, and simply replied, "It's over." She looked down at me and smiled. "I know sweetie, but it's not the end of the world. Come on up I made your favorite for dinner." And just like that she left. I sat there for a moment and though about what she said. Yeah, I told myself, she is right. The world is not going to end, just this world for me. I quickly wiped the tears that stained my face and stood up. I knew that even though I felt lost now, I'll feel better again soon. Every ending has a new beginning and I was ready to take it on. I said goodbye to my fantasy world, the world I've known and loved forever, and made my way to the kitchen. Before I sat down to devour my meal, I silently thanked J.K Rowling for creating  Harry Potter and the magical world that she allowed me to live in.

March For A Change

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..."


Voices echoed all around: high-pitched, low-pitched, off-key, with the beat. The soft hum of everyone singing sent a chill through the air. It was a dark night, with the temperature inching its way closer and closer to the below freezing mark. Yet, still they marched. The sound of dead leaves crunched under their feet, while the wind whispered gently into their ears. As the girl took a slight glance at her fellow marchers, she saw that not only were there students with her, but matured adults and young children also joined in. The candles they held lit up their faces, presenting a bit of mystery and eeriness to the scene. They were all marching for different reasons, each as diverse as every individual there.

"You can't separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has freedom."


These words, along with others, shone brightly on signs and posters. The girl felt a burning sense of pride as she read them. She was marching for a purpose; she was marching for a change; she was marching for MLK. As they followed a path through the campus, others watched them in awe.  While the crowd made stops to recite and immense themselves of the words of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, a sense of purpose grew. While everyone was marching for a different reason, they all had the same goal: to start a movement, to be heard, to come together, to spread peace, to be an influence, and to honor Martin Luther King Jr.


http://www.collegian.psu.edu/archive/2012/01/18/MLK_peace_march_.aspx