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Three Sizes Too Small Arts 

Three Sizes Too Small

I don’t have much too give you Certainly not love Maybe companionship at best Love died with the last guy Rest in peace Should I be angry about this? I’m not Things were different Life was different Eventful and full of colour He could make me smile as soon as my tears dried up It doesn’t matter what I had been crying up He could inject passion in one lonely moment Strong enough to be felt Sweet enough to savor I would worry about him more then I worried about…

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Sick Arts 

Sick

We were born to watch Her burn In the hands of selfish Men Without faith, hearts or concern, For the life around them Since money doesn’t grow on trees, What exactly is their use? Not one of them cares, nor sees That our purpose is not Abuse How our messed up weather, Foreshadowed by the first crown and throne, By those who think they can control Her, Yet are weaker than a lifeless stone   The Earth will go on. With us or without Weather the birds still sing their…

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Untitled Poems Arts 

Untitled Poems

Poem 1   Whenever someone turns The lights on Why Why do I constantly seek These dark shallow surroundings I want to see Feel the things light Does not permit Not void Not emptiness But the serenity That these ominous beings give me I do not feel pain Around them Or fear Not even as they creep Closer And closer And closer Come to me In trance They put me there And dance To that sweet melody The one that plays In the background As you eat me As you…

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The complexity of war Arts 

The complexity of war

The Canadian Soldier: Hero or murderer? Honourable or corrupt? Patriot or traitor?   Their missions in the Middle East: Home to invaluable oil supplies… Do soldiers really aim to protect civilians? Or rather, do they exploit their oil supplies, Protecting the resources instead?   Is their presence a catalyst for ongoing wars, Or a resolver of conflict? Does it promote peace, Or encourage combat?   There is propaganda going both ways, But the truth is far more complex. War is a disease that spreads quicker than the flu in a…

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Fireside Memories Arts 

Fireside Memories

There was a time When the photographs decorated the mantel, For visitors to study fondly, As they remembered the elated smiles And glistening lips, coated with liquor, That sipped from crystal wine glasses.   There was a time Before the images aged, Along with the surrounding furniture, Collecting dust, Fraying at the edges, And fading…   Just like the memories We stowed away in the attic, Entered scarcely on drunken nights, Where we dusted off the photo albums, And toasted, “To the good old days!”   Poem by: Fin

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Moths Arts 

Moths

As the sun, Travels to foreign land, Ours is struck by blackness. But no. Our skies are lit with the fluorescence of our own doing. Our creations scrape the stars, Stealing their shimmer, To use as a spotlight, That lights our nightly escapades. For after all, We have become moths; Craving the warmth of the flame, And afraid of the dark.   Poem by: Valentina Tsilimidos

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A perfect night Arts 

A perfect night

A soft breeze whispers over the wide lake, Smiling at the cloudless night sky.   It was a perfect night: Countless stars filled the air, Surrounding the trees and overflowing into the night.   A shooting star: symbol of false hope A satellite: the impostor among the cosmic objects A plane: pollution in the night sky A planet: seemingly brighter than the stars, they reflect what they have not.   The Universe is grander than the collectivity of every man’s dreams and realizations, Yet mankind tends to see itself as…

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Another Ink Arts 

Another Ink

We cried over spilled ink That pooled into the ridges of parchment, Which held words we wished were made Of the same gold as the sun’s rays. We desired to melt it down, To pour it into an inkwell, That we’d nearly fill to-the-brim, To store it, So, like idiots, we could use it To write of the silver lining That remained.   Written by: Fin

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Petals Arts 

Petals

With the colours, That my flowered words provide, I paint a picture, Upon your blank slate. Let it be so, That when your slate has been vandalized, With words of wilt, You lay your eyes to rest. Under your petalled eyelids, Will you then see, The botany of my speech.   Poem by: Valentina Tsilimidos

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The Offer Vanier Alumni 

The Offer

What Does Introspection mean to you? What? For me, it means being aware of my own feelings towards my Self. Stars. It is those fleeting moments during which I view my Self as an Other. Alien. I sometimes catch my reflection. Sad. Our eyes connect like a constellation. Void. I offer my Self a quick smile. Anxious. The smile is the moment. Heat. I am the smiling moment. Cool. I gaze into the eyes of my Self and my Self, as an Other, gazes back into me. Love.   Written By:…

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