“Poetry is always a return; a rise, to fall again…” – Maria Zambano

The pure sound from a trumpet,
As the enemy, like a fox, scrambles to the river.
The innocent are wounded beasts, helpless and childlike.
The winds of change blow dust, debris, and dreams.
A lens with a circular shape.
Inside, all of nature will collide.
Round, green, creatures float in an ocean of unending scope.
Their faces expand like a balloon. How is this possible?
The edge of the Earth is flat, not round.
If you travel on a boat, across the vast greenery,
You will fall. You will fall, and you must ask Hades for entry.
What lies in the New World? A land of green, fruits, and nuts.
No one dwells here. Only savage beasts.
How can the blue sky be the next adventure?
A black bird and a black whirring beast compete.
It buzzes like a bee, searching for a flower.
Now, they tower over all of the birds: the victor.
Not another feathered creature can compete. We have won.
What is weakness? A crippled elder, a staring bystander, or a black ant?
The weakness of faith and age, a bird with a clipped wing,
Lying in waiting for the last breath.
There is a pounding thunder, a simmer of hope.
A life has been saved.
We rise and fall like an ocean wave.
Nothing is impossible. Some, though, are penguins.
They cannot and do not want to fly.
They don’t believe in the eternal flame,
The wings of a white messenger spreading warmth over the land.
Dare to fail. Dare to fail. Dare to be an eagle.

Joy Mistovich is currently working on her Masters in English at Youngstown State University. Once she completes her Masters, she plans to pursue a PhD in Medieval Literature with a focus on Spanish Medieval literature.