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He visited me today, In a dream, like always. There's no other way. Confusion hit, just for a bit. It's been a while since I've seen him. I got up from my bed. By the smallest light I was lead Across the room, there it was where we met. He layed on a mattress, fast asleep. I didn't want to disturb, but he heard my feet. He patted the spot beside him- "have a seat." I sat there at his side. Forgetting that for him we all cried, Because in my dreams he never died. He pulled me back to lay down; I closed my eyes, he put an arm around me, making no sound. I felt so happy, a feeling of peace newly found. I was a little girl once more. Being cheered up by the Brother I adore. Just like every single time from before. I opened my eyes. He was still there, it wasn't a lie. Happiness spread through me, I felt I could fly. I closed my eyes again, going back to sleep. The next time I woke up, I was in my reality. He wasn't there, he remains in my dreams. -cgl RIP Enrique Guzman

Contributed by Cristal Guzman

Poetry at it's finest.

Contributed by Aamos Moore

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we learn A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And allow the pure air to cool our palms When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign soil When the rapacious storming of the churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tremble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged can walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Nor the Gardens of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled into delicious color By Western sunsets Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the Rising Sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world When we come to it We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cankerous words Which challenge our very existence Yet out of those same mouths Come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils nor divines When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety Without crippling fear When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world That is when, and only when We come to it.

Contributed by Juanita Harris

Seize the day for all it's worth, Never let your words go unheard. Always remember there is no rewind, So don't make room to live in the rue of your mind.

Contributed by Joseph Perry

The Flea

I find this piece to illustrate the daunting underlining of love.

Contributed by Cece Waddy

Poetry by Watsky

Contributed by Santino Thornton

i never liked poetry, until i read "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. now i love his brillance in dark poetry.

Contributed by Leeann Flores

Brave New Voices is a series on HBO which follows teens exploring poetry. "That Girl," is one of my favorite poems I ever heard. Alyssa Harris is passionate about her topic and it is extremely emotional.

Contributed by Mishel Khan

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

Today: 24 Hours in the past, 24 hours in the future A defining moments greatest gift the only time when tomorrow doesn't matter and yesterday never mattered So embrace your moment, your opportunity Because there is no telling if you'll ever get another one as great as, Today

Contributed by Aamos Moore