FLIGHT
“Oh sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth! Sing to the Lord, bless His name; tell of His salvation from day to day. Declare His glory among the nations, His marvelous works among all the peoples! For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised.” Psalm 96:1-4A
For twenty-five years Curt Masters led Brentwood Academy, as only our second Headmaster. Much like his formative years, overseas, with missionary parents, Curt has displayed a missionary’s heart for the Lord. He has led our school through difficult trials and difficult educational challenges including 9/11 and the Covid epidemic. We are grateful for his development of Brentwood Academy’s Statement of Faith, Diversity Statement, and his emphasis on and recognition that safety is a top priority for the school.
His strong leadership, through prayer, song, and example, is one to be emulated.
For all his good works and faithfulness for the mission of Brentwood Academy, the Flight 2025 literary magazine, is dedicated to Mr. Curt Masters.
BRENTWOOD ACADEMY LITERARY
Brentwood Academy is a co-educational, independent, college preparatory school, dedicated to nurturing and challenging each whole person—body, mind, and spirit—to the glory of God.
www.BrentwoodAcademy.com
FLIGHT IS PRINTED BY PRISMA PRINTING. THE FLIGHT STAFF WOULD LIKE TO THANK MR. DAVID MCQUIDDY III ‘78 AND HIS STAFF FOR THEIR ASSISTANCE WITH THIS MAGAZINE.
SENIORS
Christina Bell
Alexis Brown
Roderick Cormier
Denon Ferrari
Katherine Jominy
Naimah Nguyen
FLIGHT LITERARY STAFF 2025
Senior Editors: Christina Bell and Cali Smith
Junior Editors: Haylee Goitia and Zoë O’Cull
Advisor: Mrs. Cameron Phillips
Cali Smith
Anna Claire Stringfellow
Parker Wells
Lexi Yescott
Mary Virginia Powell
Jacob Rasmussen
Virginia Sims
JUNIORS
Meg Collier
Cooper Dennis
Andrew Gardner
Haylee Goitia
Betsy Gower
Jane Holmberg
Lena Johnson
Elaina Massey
Megan Nguyen
ART STAFF
Art Advisor: Mrs. Janet Laws
Rachel Nguyen
Zoë O’Cull
Ethan Padlick
Isaac Shapiro
Leah Tomichek
McKenna Watkins
Will Wilkerson
Editing Advisors: Ms. Hannah Santi ‘09 and Mrs. Lindsay Wade ‘86
SENIORS
Christina Bell
Alexis Brown
Karsyn Clift
Strummer Hollis
Camila Scruggs
Brooke Seedig
Virginia Sims
Kiley Christian
Odette Gause
Aidan Strange
Virginia Sims
Ella Czerwinski
Mia Florez
Karsyn Clift
Sarah Grace Steinlein
Peyton
Will
Virginia
Virginia Sims
Cali Smith
JUNIORS
Haylee Goitia
Zoë O’Cull
ARTWORK
Ella Czerwinski
Will Wilkerson
Sophia Onwubiko
Josie Blanton
Alexis Brown
Beau Metzger
Lucy Hill
Maggie Sage
Haddad
Will Wilkerson
Char Witt
TABLE OF CONTENTS
POETRY & PROSE
What is Poetry? Madison Farrell
A Simple Vase Haylee Goitia
Spring is Here Ali Engel Loyd
It’s Out with the Old, In with the New Naimah Nguyen
Goodnight, my Dreamers Christina Bell
Fine Line Katherine Jominy
The Honor of the Gray Zoë O’Cull
In my Back Haylee Goitia
Eulogy for a Ruler Colton Cox
The Driveway Jane Kate Parker
I Think I’m Orange Zoë O’Cull
I Saw A Hummingbird Haylee Goitia
Nostalgia Lexi Yescott
Sonnet 95675789485 Thaxton Cearley
Call It Justice Zoë O’Cull
The Dream Gage Raymer
James 2:24 Roderick Cormier
The Unsuspecting King Denon Ferrari
A Shot to the Heart With the Bullet I Made
Christina Bell
Homeless and the Hopeless Mary Virginia Powell
Stars Dean Compton
Sonnet Ali Engel Loyd
Heaven Will Wilkerson
Partial Impartiality Christina Bell
Strangers Katherine Jominy
An Ivory Blade Dakota Sawyer
Things I Want to Be Zoë O’Cull
The Heart of Courage Virginia Sims
Mother of One Ella Czerwinski
In the Quiet I Endure Sarah Melton
Black and White Mary Virginia Powell
6 Lives Betsy Gower
The Black Dog Virginia Sims
The Cross of Christ Presley Seedig
Grace McKenna Watkins
Decisions Meg Collier
Nighttime Drives Susanna Collier
With Health Comes Sickness In Love
Anna Claire Stringfellow
Tomorrow Lena Johnson
You’ll Think of Me McKenna Watkins
Sonder Ethan Padlick
Sonnet 7 Marlie Singletary
Dad, Father, Daddy, Papa Betsy Gower
A World Without Books, Can You
Imagine Leah Tomichek
A Letter to Someone who Listens
Jane Holmberg
Princess Dresses Ella Czerwinski
WHAT IS POETRY
MADISON FARRELL ‘27
How should I write poetry?
Maybe poetry should be detailed, but with the unnecessary words and punctuation taken out. Poetry: detailed, less words; punctuation: none Is this poetry? (and can words be unnecessary?)
That’s not poetry; that’s slang.
Perhaps poetry should be elaborate and lengthy. Poetry ought to be laborious and lengthy, words stretching into infinity, meaningless and tedious, Pointlessly unspooling into the void, unremitting and unreturning. Is this soundless soliloquy poetry?
Maybe?
I find poetry to be vague and confusing. Slipping sand through finger stone, worn to bone by poetry unknown, perplexing prose and convoluted cannon, ambiguous illusions of alabaster granite.
Is this perplexing mess pleasing? I think poetry ought to rhyme. I dislike rhyme, takes too much time. And why attempt Something I hold in contempt? Is this cruelty considered poetry? I gave up, ask the dictionary. I think poetry should tell a story. Everything tells a story. So is everything poetry?
You ask the wrong questions. It should be Is poetry everything? Poetry, it is what you choose it to be. And I?
I choose to see poetry.
VIRGINIA SIMS ‘25
A SIMPLE VASE
HAYLEE GOITIA ‘26
There’s a vase in your house. One that holds the most beautiful flowers I think I’ve ever seen. Flowers that I could stare at for hours. Flowers that fade; they never last more than a while.
Still, the vase dulls more and more as the flowers leave with time. The vase should see it comingexpect the loneliness.
A vase isn’t meant to keep anything for long; that’s simply common sense.
This poor vase is not the kind you put on displayno.
It’s not the kind you asked forthe kind you’d ever want. It’s tacky.
Overbearing.
It’s the kind you hide away; the kind that makes you embarrassed to admit it’s even something that you ownjust some glass that’s chipped and nicked. It’s held together by tape and gluescarred by each thorn that came before.
Some might ask how the vase is still there, but it’s a mystery to me. I often even wonder why it’s something that you keep. It must be an awful chore, minding such an ugly vase.
It’s so far gone, I even think shattering it would be okay. And yet, you keep it. Despite what you think of it, the vase holds false hopea useless dream for more.
It can’t see how ugly it is. It just sits and wonders why the water dries so quickly, why the waterlilies wilt away, why even people only come once or twice a day.
It holds what it can and wonders if that’s enough
But what can be done?
It’s certainly no diamond in the rough
SPRING IS HERE
ALI ENGEL LOYD ‘29
“Tweet Tweet,” sings the young bluebird that awakens you from you long winter sleep, who sits on a branch of an old oak tree that hovers over your window.
You twist the latch of your windowsill expecting the harsh cold winter chill, instead greeted by a warm, comforting spring breeze.
With a puzzled look, you glance at the young bluebird.
As if he knows about the change, in response, the young bluebird winks and chuckles, “It’s spring! Don’t you see?”
IT’S OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE NEW NAIMAH NGUYEN ‘25
We lack originality
It’s easy to explain AS EASY AS PIE
We lack originality
We lack identity TO BE OR NOT TO BE
We lack originality
It’s an endless cycle that WILL BRING US BACK TO “DO”
We lack originality
It’s a worldwide pandemic where WE’RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER
We lack originality
We’re too busy to be original, but ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY
We lack originality
We follow the crowd and ON WEDNESDAYS WE WEAR PINK
We lack originality
But that’s fine because, FRANKLY, MY DEAR, I truly don’t care.
GOODNIGHT, MY DREAMERS
CHRISTINA BELL ‘25
She placed a tentative foot on the edge, checking carefully to see if it would hold her weight. funny, not even a creak
She smiled wistfully while looking around at the heart wrenching scene before her.
Waves lapped at the surface, pulling, and tugging at the oceans’ tulle below her, a couple danced serenely, spinning around like shooting stars. A mocking voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she tried so desperately to shake off the feeling creepy, creepy crawling spiders.
It was so easy to imagine; too easy… The image had become second nature, flashing through her mind in broken pieces …yet sometimes (like tonight) it was whole. The image was a blight in her mind, it consumed her, and she couldn’t stop the walls from closing in…bit by bit…by bit
“jump” FINE LINE
KATHERINE JOMINY
‘25
there’s a fine line between love and hate. i’ve despised this saying my entire life. how could there be any truth in something so maddeningly contradictory? because how could i ever love someone like you?
you’re the only one who makes my blood boil to such an unbearable degree. the only one whose careless words leave me seething in frustration. only one who makes my stomach lurch at the mere thought of you.
it’s our battles that keep me awake at night. it’s you that i search for in every room. it’s your voice i hear in every silence.
you’re the only one. the only one i could never love. right?
THE HONOR OF THE GRAY
ZOë O’CULL ‘26
A coffee sipped up by an anti-aging straw, A girl hides their box of retinol, And society sees the sadness and smiles; Not all, though, some fear the wrinkles.
Teens jump to eighteen, Adults stay there and keep their age unseen.
But the trees don’t hold in place the sun; And the glaciers can’t freeze the time.
The rabbit does not hide from the sun; Jackalopes keep up the fun.
The hyena does not hide her laugh; The water is a drink, not a mirror, for the calf.
The white petals fall on everyone’s shoulders, And the body was meant to molder, “Don’t grow old, don’t get gray,” Is something a horse would never say.
The doe fears she dies before she grows old
The human fears it grows old before it dies.
IN MY BACK
HAYLEE GOITIA ‘26
Help! I’ve been stabbed! At least, I think I have. Why is no one concerned?
I’ve suffered a fatal blow, right in my back.
No one’s batting an eye; The people around me look annoyed.
“Why do you cry? Stop complaining,” some say.
“Didn’t you see it coming?
Maybe you should have moved.”
“Don’t judge; you don’t know what they’re going through.”
I move past them towards familiar faces; they’ll understand.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
I show my wound; I pour out my heart; I hope they’ll understand.
“I know the stranger you speak of, they wouldn’t harm a flea.”
Then, please tell me, what is this agony?
“Don’t spread lies, I can’t help a gossiper.” But can I help that I’ve been stabbed? Why don’t they understand?
Were you truly stabbed in the back if no one believes you?
If all they say is that you’re to blame?
I felt the pain, the sting of the woundthe worst pain I’ve ever feltbut is that real if no one believes me?
All the witnesses are blind, believing only what they wish to see.
But maybe I did have it coming.
I can’t help but remember that girl I never see anymore.
She cried out for help, and no one came. Now I see; maybe I did have it coming for me.
EULOGY FOR A RULER
COLTON COX ‘30
You were consistently useful With the evenly spaced lines. You helped me draw graphs in 7th grade science, And helped me keep my lines straight. Not sure what my homework would look like Without my brave, brave, brave ruler Who was with me all these years.
But oh, you were confusing in math, With the top side in inches, And the bottom side in centimeters. Why would you confuse me like that!
Oh, my ruler, my ruler, my ruler, But eventually I figured you out.
And then one day I went to look for my steady friend To do another homework lesson, But my dear old friend was split in two.
The dog has stepped on you, And split you in two!
This is a very sad night, Oh, my mourning, my mourning, and my mourning! What will I do?
THE DRIVEWAY
JANE KATE PARKER ‘30
You’re gone now, and I miss you so. I can’t believe that you had to go. The big machines came and took you away, and there was nothing I could do or say.
Countless hours spent in the sun or staying past midnight and repeating, “I’m almost done.” Hopefully, next year you’ll return, but in a newer version I have learned
One without cracks, rocks, and dirt.
A cleaner, smoother version won’t make me hurt. Though you’re gone, my memories stay. So many games that will never go away.
Bloody knees, tears, and laughter, too. I can never explain how much I miss you.
The last thing I have to say Is thank you to my first driveway.
I THINK I’M ORANGE
ZOë O’CULL ‘26
I blossom like a flower, Twisting and turning in the wind’s bellow, Spawning in a blanket of green, Sweet like a berry, womb of the wood. And when I’m ripe, I will be picked. But when they open me up, Dig their nails in and peel at my shell, I will fall apart.
VIRGINIA SIMS ‘25
I SAW A HUMMINGBIRD
HAYLEE GOITIA ‘26
Abuelo, guess what? I saw you! At least, I think I did.
A hummingbird flew in our house, like Abuela said you would.
You fluttered in the kitchen; we couldn’t get you out. I’d like to just imagine that it’s you without a doubt.
I know it sounds so silly that you’ve returned a little bird. But I really hope it’s true and not a myth deferred.
Oh, to play the games we played. Your jokes never seemed to end. My mind is full of happy times. Oh, how I hope you come again.
NOSTALGIA
LEXI YESCOTT ‘25
I crave the memories that I think about so often. Memories that can only be replicated through a child’s eyes, with a child’s imagination.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to recreate the unfiltered joy that I remember feeling. The pure innocence of my brain that I cannot find anywhere, no matter where I look.
I wish I could live inside of my memories again, before they became memories.
ELLA CZERWINSKI ‘27
SONNET 95675789485
THAXTON
CEARLEY ‘29
Below the sky, the world feels cold and bare. The stars seem distant, hidden far away. The heart felt lost, caught in deep despair, a shadowed night that never sees the day.
The wind, it makes a noise, a mournful sound, as dreams slip through like sand that cannot stay. The world spins on, yet we are tightly bound, chasing hopes that seem too far away.
The weight of time feels heavy like a chain, and every step seems slow and hard to take. The night is endless, filled with endless pain. A storm rages on, never to forsake.
Yet love’s a light that burns the dark away, a fire strong enough to lead the way.
CALL IT JUSTICE
ZOë O’CULL ‘26
Man shall not live on bread alone, Nor should they be killed on an ‘if.’
And the people may die, Some will even forget. Society will turn with the curve of the earth.
But engraved in the crust of the world Shall the bones of the innocent remain.
Untouched by the care of any governor No judge and never the ones ‘protecting’ him.
It was his topical nature, the color of his being, That killed him, not his guilt.
And it is the topical layer of his body That will first decompose, and every Fiber that does, a million years In hell shall be spent by the devil who put him there.
Because when the governor stands before the Lord, He can only dream that God’s justice is not Man’s Justice. For what shall he say to the father of the son whom he killed?
THE DREAM
GAGE RAYMER ‘29
In the dream, I saw the stars. I could only wonder just how far All the souls of the past deceased Watch over us from where they are.
As I slept and dreamed my dreams I saw the colors of the sky, Scattered across the galaxy, Like a whirlpool of ink and dye.
He created it punctiliously, Like a painting painted perfectly, Painted for our eyes to see–A place for creativity.
JAMES 2:24
RODERICK CORMIER
‘25
How conceitful and bewitching it must be To have Eternal Security in impurity free, “For what worth do good works have to me?”
“Cursed be John Calvin!” say the reprobate, But where to be found is the public hate, When none think they are predestined to such a fate?
“Sola Fide!” has been the cry As such doctrine surely cannot lie, For without it, the church would die.
Romans 3:28 still needed “alone,” So adding “Allein” should atone, While Saint James’ Epistle can bemoan.
Without the Deuterocanonicals, the canon we shall break, But Jude, James, Hebrews, Revelation into Luther’s Antilegomena make, The epistles of straw to the fire he will take, All for Sola Scriptura’s sake.
THE UNSUSPECTING KING
DENON FERRARI ‘25
The man came for all, The last thing he wanted was to see them fall. He came as a gift, Hoping to give their spirits a lift. He gave the biggest sacrifice, The only one that would suffice. To free them all of what trouble they were in, To cleanse them all of their dirty sin. He did not come from anything grand, He did his work with his hands. His name is Yahweh.
A SHOT TO THE HEART WITH THE BULLET I MADE
CHRISTINA BELL ‘25
It’s hard to say if it’s me or you. Whose to say it’s either of us at all?
An external factor keeping me back, an answer to a problem that doesn’t exist.
No, it’s definitely me. Compliments sure, actions rarely follow.
Not good or bad enough to be special, refusing to pick from the meager options I’m given
or is it you?
I would settle, but you’re not looking for that. Only hoping for the one person I am not and will never be. That still makes it me then, doesn’t it?
I’m the sole one at fault.
too much and too little
There is one common factor Every. Single. Time. always left for another It has to be me, who’s just not what’s wanted. Told time and time again to not believe their lies, but I carry on because
maybe this time is different…
HOMELESS AND THE HOPELESS
MARY VIRGINIA POWELL
‘25
2 men walked down 2 the same path.
And these 2 different men noticed very different things on their walk.
The man in the suit:
He passed many flowers on his path but always complained that his favorite didn’t grow.
The dirt from the path kicked up on his new leather shoes, so he’d curse under his breath about needing to get them cleaned.
When the sun would shine through the trees, he’d think about how badly he wished for rain.
And when he passed others on the path, he avoided eye contact with them, focusing on what he had to do next.
The man in the beanie:
Every flower he passed he was sure to note how beautiful they were because he was often surrounded by weeds.
The rubble and stone cut his feet because his shoes were worn thin from years of daily use, but he was grateful for every step he took.
When the sun would shine through the trees he’d lift back his head, close his eyes, and allow himself to bask for a moment,
And when others passed on the path- though they regularly avoided eye contact- he always made sure to smile at the ones who did.
The 2 men would likely never meet. They were simply worlds apart, at least that was as it seemed. But they weren’t. They were walking on the same path. One in a suit and a dinner reservation at 8, and one in a beanie wondering when and where his next meal would come from. 2 men, the same path, yet the “better off” one never appreciated his walk as much as the homeless one.
These 2 men, the homeless and the hopeless.
STARS
DEAN COMPTON ‘27
On high, they mock me
Distant lights, filled with warmth that I will never touch, never taste, never feel on my skin
Below, I shiver and writhe
Buried in the inky weight that they so easily surpass
Just as the very worst smells are so close to sweetness, the most crushing darkness leaves a hateful promise of light.
SARAH GRACE STEINLEIN ‘28
SONNET
ALI ENGEL LOYD ‘29
In the depths of the sorrow-filled valleys, Filled fully with brokenness and dismay, There’s a God who loves us very deeply, Who will never abandon us astray.
I might not grasp his plan or what he’ll bring, But seek Him first, my friend, and you will find That there is a reason for everything, And to trust in God’s clever time.
People and things will always be leaving, Yet the only thing that remains is the Lord. He understands the ones who are grieving; His love is like water being poured.
Now put on the strong armor of the Lord, And trust in Him for his endless love adorns.
HEAVEN
WILL WILKERSON ‘26
I do not always know what I want, But I know I want it badly. If I want it, I will attain it. I want it so bad because I already have it in the future.
Where does my wanting come from? Does it come from God or the Devil? Saint Paul told me, if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who does it, but it is sin living in me that does it.
Would God torment me with the inception of a desire that could not be satisfied by him?
God only does what he wants, and so does the Devil. My ability to want what is good is dependent on them, I am not in control.
What I want is heaven, all other desires are void. As long as I attain it nothing else matters; I will do whatever it takes to achieve heaven.
Heaven is what everyone wants, some people just don’t know they want it.
PARTIAL IMPARTIALITY
CHRISTINA BELL ‘25
When did reading start to feel like a chore?
When did I stop staying up for hours under the covers with a good book and a flashlight? No more trips to the library, leaving ladened with a stack of books almost as tall as me, No more journeys to far away lands filled with bustling cities and mythical creatures. Getting lost in a world I wished was my own. Now every page turn is as heavy as Sisyphus’ stone. Too old to be the protagonist, too naive to be my own.
I think it started when “gifted” became a responsibility, not a title. Being “independent” meant a forgotten childhood, Being “mature” meant suppressing your emotions, When an over average intelligence became a statistic, a number, a score, When my entire future rested on a number between 1-1600, 1-36, and 1-5.
“Gifted” became synonymous with “responsibility,” And suddenly, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. My whole future hurtling towards me at a speed I can’t handle. When did reading start to feel like a chore? And can I ever enjoy it again?
WILL WILKERSON
STRANGERS
KATHERINE JOMINY ‘25
i sit next to you in class. we sit in silence and don’t dare to glance at one another. to an outsider, we must seem like strangers. but i guess that’s what we are. strangers. with a past.
your eyes dart to the floor as i brush past you in the hall. but that’s weird. because those eyes used to be home. those eyes used to be full of love.
i once knew everything about you –your favorite color and guilty pleasures, your hopes and dreams for the future –but now i don’t even know the first thing about you. because the person you changed into couldn’t be more different than the you i knew.
i’m in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. nobody tells you how to cope with that. so here i lay, mourning the living.
AN IVORY BLADE
An ivory blade, Bleached bone against burning skin, Cutting, slicing, layer after layer, Run smooth from soothing
Pain. Slipping over the edge
To cascade like cataracts
Down, beneath the picturesque waters. Silent agony, what follows
Words. How does one know Their true intentions, Those masked by a smile. ` A mysterious, ivory blade.
VIRGINIA SIMS ‘25
DAKOTA SAWYER ‘28
THINGS I WANT TO BE
ZOë O’CULL ‘26
I wish I were a cat with 9 lives:
9 different chances, one I would survive. I wish I were an Octopus with 8 hands: I could do 8 things and be 8 men in one man.
I wish I had the 7 eyes, like the Lamb of God: I would see 7 different things and 7 different sides. If that doesn’t work, let me be a spider:
6 eyes is close enough; I will still be a spy.
The sea star has 5 arms, one for each side: I would hold 5 hands and live 5 lives.
I wish I were a horse to run on all 4:
I would be so fast; there is nothing I couldn’t endure. If I had 3 heads, like the Cerberus, enchanted by Orpheus’s chord: I would have 2 more thoughts for each and never get bored. Maybe a snake would do me good, with 2 pointed teeth: One to bite, the other to feast.
But no, I am one and one I’ll forever be:
One life, one mind, one me.
THE HEART OF COURAGE
VIRGINIA SIMS ‘25
Courage is a fiery force, made of steely stuff. It rises when we need it most, when fear tries calling our bluff. Yet truly, there is courage in weakness, as there is in strength. It takes great courage to admit our flaws, as much as it does to leap. Courage is to know the truth, to not be sold a lie.
Courage laughs, and courage dances when the virtuous survive.
Courage fights for justice and kneels to gentle peace. It takes courage to be kind — to love, forgive, and believe.
MOTHER OF ONE
ELLA CZERWINSKI ‘27
A mother of one has things to get done; She must wait for her son.
“A boy of 18, bright as the sun!”
A mother of one stumbles across a glass shard; The mother was left on guard. Then the glass showed a boy unscarred.
“Oh, my son, a dreamer in the army!”
“Have you had a good journey?”
“I hope the weather never turns stormy!”
A mother of one looks into the glass, “My son, a dreamer with such sass!” The glass shows a world of grass.
A mother of one runs into the field.
“My son wanted to be a knight with a shield!” She kneeled, “The many dreams he wields!”
The glass shows a world of rain. A mother of one has a strange feeling in her veins.
“My son never had much of a brain”
The glass shows a sign. The mother of one, her fingers intertwine.
“My son never wanted to be on the front lines.”
The glass shows a toy. A mother of one feels no joy.
IN THE QUIET I ENDURE
SARAH MELTON ‘26
I want to be strong; I don’t want to break. But the weight isn’t lifting, Even as I ache.
I look to my friends, But they don’t see the strainHow I keep falling short, Time and time again.
I keep my mouth shut, To say the right things, But the words still wound, And the silence does sting.
I grasp for the light But just can’t quite reach. Caught in the shadows, That no one can breach.
Though my struggle is long and hard, I know I’m not alone in the dark
ELLA CZERWINSKI ‘27
BLACK AND WHITE
MARY VIRGINIA POWELL ‘25 But really, they are black and white.
2 words, same number of letters, But really one is for the better.
2 words, both starting with L, But really, your actions are what tell.
They should go hand in hand. At least, that was always my plan. But now it’s clear for me to see, The difference in what we think we should be.
You’re what I should get rid of, This is clearly a bust
Because where I see love, All you feel is lust.
6 LIVES
BETSY
GOWER ‘26
March 27, one day to represent forever pain. You shot through that door, no number of words could ever explain. 6 people, 6 beautiful lives you took, And you, you alone, saw their final look. A desperate look, a look of pain
As you maliciously shot blood from their veins. You may think you took the lives of children and adults, each by three. But you killed hundreds, thousands; you killed me. You, you robbed mothers of their children, children of their parents. But to you, to you it was just a small dent.
But strangely enough, I’m thankful. You brought me to old friends and teachers, who I’m grateful are still alive. People I know and love, people that now thrive . You left scars, trauma, blood stains. But this pain, is something our God continues to obtain.
We focus on the lives taken, Doctor Koonce, Mr. Mike, Hallie; all people who were undeserving. But you protected Pastor Sullivan, Mrs. Dupree, Xanna, Kaitlyn, People I have the ability to continue loving.
THE BLACK DOG
VIRGINIA SIMS ‘25
Some define it as a feeling—one of despondency and dejection, But it is no mere sentiment; it is a relentless brute: With a dull black coat, lifeless black eyes, and an uncanny demeanor.
He pursues me day after day, invariably, Trailing my footsteps, tracking my scent. Occasionally, he falls behind, And for a moment, everything is alright.
I can breathe once more.
But when he overtakes me, I am shrouded by his fetor.
How did he arrive? How do I estrange myself from him?
I crave the answers that seem so distant. Nothing can deter the black dog, for he is like a moth drawn to a flame.
I am the master, yet he holds the leash. Suddenly, Sisyphus’s curse does not seem so appalling. Man’s best friend is my greatest foe, For I am impotent against the plague of the black dog. He has undermined me, subjugated me, and reduced me to nothing.
Nevertheless, approaching steadily, He makes no sound; the silence is deafening.
As he draws near, I feel no sense of fear, But immeasurable indifference is inevitable.
The black dog hounds me— A perpetual nightmare, Suppressing my slumber, for if I lay awake,
Maybe he will depart, leaving me in blissful peace.
But that is only a dream; I am aware. Mere words will never explain What Churchill knew so well: The hindrance of the black dog.
WILL WILKERSON ‘26
THE CROSS OF CHRIST
PRESLEY SEEDIG ‘27
Savior. Redeemer.
The Way. The Truth
The Life. Lord.
The Bread of Life
Son of the Living
God. Perfect. Only Begotten Son King Of Kings. Prince Of Peace. Mighty God.
Wonderful Counselor. Everlasting Father. The Almighty. Teacher. Immanuel. Advocate. Holy. Lamb of God. Cornerstone. Good Shepherd.
Rock. Christ. Light of the World. Advocate. Messiah. Teacher. Faithful. Alpha and Omega.
Comforter. Miracle Worker. True Vine.
High Priest. The Lord Of Lords. The Word. Humble Servant. Righteous Judge. Living Water. The Resurrection and the Life. Deliverer. Lion Of Judah. Prophet.
JOSIE BLANTON ‘26
GRACE
MCKENNA
WATKINS ‘26
Unmerited favor, a middle name, Something God gave when he came, For me, a reminder of who I should be, Graceful without fail, I don’t give back to me, I’ve watched the rest, I should be the perfect fifth, “Give yourself some grace”, though it seems like a myth, Because how could something so lowly Have endless access to a Savior Holy?
If I were God, there would not have been second chances; If I were God, I would judge based on the circumstances, But I’m not God—
And then I realize what I don’t have to be:
Someone so perfect, able to set the world free. My constant performance needs to stop, I have a God that should be seen, but He’s not.
Let Christ be what they see, And by the grace of God, that sure sets me free.
DECISIONS
MEG COLLIER ‘26
Breathing slow, walls close in. Strangers yawn and tap their pens. Fear creeps in, what if I fail? Their judgment makes me small and frail.
Wandering eyes, a journey’s end, A fork in the road, our paths now bend. The future approaches, it’s traveling fast, And with this test the die is cast.
NIGHTTIME DRIVES
SUSANNA
COLLIER ‘27
On long nights
When there is nothing to do, We go for a driveJust me and you
We listen to music, We talk for hoursJust two sisters along for the ride. We take the roundabout way home. We drive to our Sonic, Cherry coke or sweet tea, Both are favorites to me.
She knows all my thoughts, And knows how to make me laugh like no other can. She is my sister She knew me before I knew myself.
She watched and guided me Through puddles in the rain And mountains of snow. Every step of the way she is with me.
But as we pull into the driveway, We want to finish one last song. So, we drive all the way back And home again.
WITH HEALTH COMES SICKNESS IN LOVE
ANNA CLAIRE STRINGFELLOW ‘25
She sat in a corner brittle and frail, He stood on the golf course with a drink in his hand. Honey I’m home is an overused phrase. In sickness and in health she thought man I am brave, She coughed till her throat would bleed. Honey how are you?
Fine, I could use some tea.
One day she knew her end was coming, but would he notice?
Never did he.
In sickness and in health she thought, but that would never cancel his tee time She went to the doctor one last time, but it was different she withered away in her hospital bed. She contemplated calling him, but would it be too much of a shock?
He never knew her hurt caused by sickness, Or questioned her health.
“I do” meant nothing and apparently so did she. Alone and dying with her sickness and loss of health She prayed for blessings that did not flow, She wished she married a man that wasn’t a no show.
TOMORROW
LENA JOHNSON ‘26
11:59 pm
In one minute the day will be gone. Today will be yesterday and tomorrow will be today
It’s kind of terrifying when you think about it
Terrifying in the way that everything you did today
All of the
Places you’ve been
Things you’ve touched
Songs you’ve heard
Conversations you’ve had Will soon become a memory
Fading slowly as time slips away Or worse they will be forgotten
Blending together and Lost amidst all of your yesterdays Gone.
12:00 am today
YOU’LL THINK OF ME
MCKENNA WATKINS ‘26
Like home to me— I can always come back to, Weeks spent away Homesick of something—someone Safe and true, Always driving back, straight to you Flick the light on and off.
Where I grew up— something, someone that understands me
Now it’s that time I must choose to not belong anymore
A perfect place Needs to be a closed door.
Feels like demolition the day I leave
Rejecting something—someone that cares for me I don’t want to, but I must When it’s time, I knew, can’t be unjust Move upward and onward, bittersweet Feels incomplete.
Years later I return, you, still captivating
That Gatsby smile, I’m back home Nostalgia, that’s the feeling No longer sad or unknown In time something—someone became
A perfect memory
And I’ll think of you.
ALEXIS BROWN ‘25
SONDER
ETHAN PADLICK ‘26
A sensitive person such as myself walks down the street and thinks, my whole life has led to me seeing you. You’ve lived a whole life yet ended up here in front of me. I do not know you and you do not know me yet there is a deep connection between us; we’ve both ended up here at this place at the same time, on the same day, in the same year, what are the chances?
I appreciate my life more, the fantastic just as much as the mundane. It is my story, the story that has led me here. You are your own Juliet I am my own Romeo, we are both our very own main characters. With every person who passes by a part of our story. I do not know you, yet we have this in common the complex as well as the simple.
Sonder
SONNET 7
MARLIE
SINGLETARY ‘29
When Darkness falls and silence fills the air, My thoughts take flight beyond the world I know. In dreams, I wander lands beyond compare, Where shining stars and golden rivers flow.
Yet, dreams do fade like whispers in the breeze, They slip away with every morning light. I reach for them, but find no trace with ease, And wonder if they ever will take flight.
Do dreams deceive, mere shadows in my mind? Or do they shine, a spark within my soul? I chase their glow, determined still to find The path they light: the key to making me whole.
Though dreams may drift, I’ll hold them close and tight, For their hands, they shape my future bright.
A WORLD WITHOUT BOOKS, CAN YOU IMAGINE
LEAH TOMICHEK ‘26
Can you imagine…
A world with no imagination, Full of dull minded people. There is no escape from reality, No hope towards dreams. Poverty runs the world, A place so dreary it could only exist in a nightmare.
Can you imagine…
If Edgar Allan Poe had never comprised a piece of gothic literature, If Emily Dickinson was as full of passion as a rock, If Miguel de Cervantes was never acknowledged For the stories he dreamed of. How dull the world would be.
Can you imagine…
A world with no advancement, So far behind it was hopeless.
Letters to come and go, In a world oh so low.
The Brooklyn bridge torn down, Crushing the ground and town.
Hittler’s abomination prevails, Every other way fails.
Innocent lives as meaningless as a pseudoword, Depravity thrives and all that was once “good” was dead. Romance, comedy, fiction, nonfiction - if none of it mattered, Everything was the same - still and dark, the silence deafening. Heroes and villains never brawled, Princesses stay locked away in towers forever, Because books are the foundation for our civilization, For them we owe our imagination… Without them life is forever blue.
Can you imagine…
DAD, FATHER, DADDY, PAPA
BETSY GOWER ‘26
So many names to call you
But at a loss of words how to describe you. Your kindness, your gentleness, your willingness to bring me up. I will never be okay with the idea of you heading up. My life revolves around you, you are the Sun. You make me laugh; you make the tough times fun. And although we sometimes disagree, It will always be you and me.
You make me better; you inspire me to be stronger. You never get angry when I try harder.
And although I will never be perfect, and we will one day be apart, You are my everything, you are the best part.
BEAU METZGER ‘26
A LETTER TO SOMEONE WHO LISTENS
JANE HOLMBERG ‘26
My friends, If you can hear me: With every little petty thing we do, We refuse humility. We feel the need to protect, But only protect ourselves, Our reputation, Throwing others under the bus Insecure about everyone’s opinions of us. When really So is everyone, So busy being insecure And always thinking Only about themselves That they don’t even notice The flaws In me
Or anyone else. My friends, We need to think, To actually use our brains. Take a chill pill, Take a second, Think, what do I value? And stand firm. Is it worth it? Sacrifice a friend for a reputation? Is it?
We can’t be reactionary Or stubborn Or selfish. My friends, Be humble, Be peace.
PRINCESS DRESSES
ELLA CZERWINSKI ‘27
When I was a young girl, I had dresses that made me twirl. Pretty, perfect, princess gowns, I never wore a frown.
My Nana would indulge me, And call me anything. Since she couldn’t recall, Anything before fall.
As I grew up, I started wearing them less, They were much too frilly, I guess. My Nana often called me my sisters name, I always corrected her claim.
My dresses then tore, I should’ve loved them more. Now they are gone and lost, And her mind has tossed.
My pretty, perfect, princess gowns, How I miss my Nana now. Don’t be quick to say goodbye, Because you can do nothing more than cry.
