[this has been redacted for possible publication. I will repost if it doesn't get into the college lit mag.]

When tears I cry I cry for me,
In selfish pride my tears flow.
I know this doesn't have to be;
It doesn't and this I know.

But when He cried His bitter tears
He wept with grief, not shame.
He payed for sins of all the years,
And still we mocked His name.

Our Lord and Savior took the blow,
He sacrificed His life, in love.
We murmur as we reap and sow,
While He looks pitying from above.

June 12, 2009
Dear Journal,
I made two new friends at the park this afternoon. They were a brother and sister named Josh and Kelly. Josh is 16 and Kelly is 14. They're homeschooled. I figured out that they live three houses down from mom and me so they invited me to hang out at their house tomorrow afternoon for a couple of hours. They have a big pool so we'll probably swim. And Josh said he'd teach me how to skateboard. He's pretty cool.
Kennedy

[this piece has been redacted for publication in my school's literary journal!]

"The end is the eternal beginning for some, and for others it is yet the eternal ending."
My grandad used to say that to my Daddy back when I was a little kid, and then he would take out his Bible and read from it. My daddy always got mad and left, dragging me along to the truck. Momma always cried when he did that, and looked back at grandad as if to say she was sorry for the mean things daddy said. So that's why we didn't visit Grandad and Gramma very often.

Once upon a time there was a princess. Her name was the symbol of melodic and mystical winds from across the lands of the kingdom. Her mother died when she was five or six and she was left to reign with her father, Eviscus. Eviscus was a king of dark complexion and deep black eyes. Rainne (the princess) was of opposite appearance with warm greyish blue eyes and fawn colored hair. She was a meek and quiet maiden of light, and even in her dark confinement she was a pool of sparkling light in itself.

A bitter wind blows its warning breath,
thunder rolls in angry protest,
I taste the dread; the tempest that is to come.
It feels like a meeting,
a date if you will, with the doomed sky.
Clouds suddenly are torn asunder,
grey visages weeping,
keeping unsteady time with their tears.
Lightning strikes and all is hushed;
for a moment, time stands still.
The clouds begin weeping again,
a silent lament to the inevitable,
waiting for the sun to once again
dry their tears.

June 3rd, 2009
Dear Journal,

Red yellow orange brown and gray;
These are not the colors of May.
Leaves and pine needles on trees so tall,
Yes, these are colors of the melting fall.
Some will say it looks dreary and dead.
They wish for cheerier seasons ahead.
This season of colors so serious and warm
Holds promise of tranquility after the storm.
A symbol of death in beauty falling down;
In piles gathered making a crown.
Death to self given for life from above:
So much less than we give for His love.
Beauty for ashes and joy on the 'morrow;

Run, yeah run, just as fast as you can,
God will still catch you if it's in His plan.
You can run for a long time or you can sit still;
But you can't hide from God, or from His will.
You can run like a coward or you can stand bold
But God in His might will have His story told.
So stand up tall and always be brave:
Never forget how He conquered the grave.
Spread the gospel far and wide: in every land
'Till His children all rest at His holy right hand.