Young Writers Society

Heavy with the severity of their conviction,
Light with the sincerity of their intention,
They alight across the tips of the mountains
And use their anchored souls to hold them down.

Their looks shatter glass skies into mosaicked seas
And draw the blade across the throats
Of whispering winds, secret turncoats of the universe
Spilling the truths held thousands of years.

With a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder
They toil away at their dismal occupation
Slitting the wrists of the ground for rivers
Stabbing the heart of the ocean for trenches

Until they should glide across the ice
Burst through to the other side
And dowse their souls with the frigid liquid
They lie in
wait.
wait.
wait.