Follow the Sun
In all his dreams,
The house lights were turned off.
Skin drawn over the windows,
But breathing.
The veins were backlit
Blue rivers.
An old guitarist sat
In the corner of the floor
By the blue light.
He had seen the stranger here
A thousand times before, each one
A brand new beginning under the
Cover of music
Sometimes obscure,
Other times precise.
He’d always wake having forgotten
The music, finding that his bed
Was in the middle of a dark wood.
He cried, “You have left me
When I thought
All the doors of my life might be
Opened.”
The wood echoed.
He wept. “Are you my heart?
Can you sing now?” Still lost.
He followed the sun as it glinted
From behind the dark branches,
The guitarist making buried music.
Even when he walked in thoughts
Warm and moving.
He continued to dream when
He slept.
A single trumpet would burst
Into the sky,
Clear as the notes themselves.
A world in watercolors.
He hoped for a sky
Where both the sun and stars
Could be seen
From a hill, at an hour that
Is both,
And that he could rise
To eternity
By the music of his hidden
Self.
-2017 Magazine
Editor-in-Chief
Abby Fossati
Prairie Resch
Photography/Art Editors
Jessica Chapman
Joanna Wei
Prose Editors
Alexander Yuen
Amanda Wang
Alexander Yuen
Amanda Wang
Poetry Editors
Abigail Kruger
Caroline Asnes
Pearl Miller
Abigail Kruger
Caroline Asnes
Pearl Miller
Event Coordinators
Ella Ip
Fiona Li
Ella Ip
Fiona Li
Web Editor
Julia Kosinski
Faculty Advisor
Ms. Renee Harlow
All Comments