The Poetry department is honored to inaugurate an innovative department to be coordinated by our own prism. Called Cross-roads, it is introduced and its first article is presented below. Since the first content contribution is a poem, it is fitting that it be initially showcased here.

Poetry has always been a writing mode for condensed truth, for illustrating truth through images, for engaging readers and listeners to employ their own experiences in understanding the scope of the truth presented. These aspects of poetry to combine to make it such an emotional and effective form of communication.

I now present to you ... Cross-roads.

-- Hersius

Cross-roads
by prism

Greetings Masters,
Greetings Mistresses,
Greetings slaves

Many of you all are probably wondering what Cross-roads actually is. prism interprets it as, a place when someone comes to a fork in the road. The road comes together and has other roads that intersect with it. You stop, look, and you are at that point, do you take the same road you always do? Or are you not sure and look at the different roads to choose from?

Cross-roads is mainly going to be articles based upon things girls struggle with, not just what prism struggles with, but taking in the thoughts of others.

Cross-roads, won’t be a “me” column. prism will strive to make sure it helps as many as she can and perhaps many of those struggling can help prism with herself as well.

Last year this one wrote this, she isn’t sure what to call it, but it was at a point where she came and still is at the crossroad.

As the Smoke Clears
by prism

As the smoke clears and the images appear
Things get a bit clearer
Is it all a facade?
Is it all done with smoke and mirrors?
Is it a dog and pony show?

The ring leader
The man who claims to be what he thinks he is
Taking off his hat
“Come one, come all, The greatest show on earth”

See the Men who project themselves in the images they want people to see them in.
The illusionist
The one who preys upon the weak
The one who laughs at the fools
Who smirk and know they can con.

He has a cast of many
The fat lady
She is even better at it then he
She projects an image as well
Her smile, her grace
Dancing upon tip toes
Twirling around so fast

You start to see her
In all her beauty
Her image changes
Her body develops
Perfect in every way
Not a flaw
Then her lips open
A piercing sound comes from with in them

You step back
Shake yourself and all is clear again

Things are not as they appear

The smoke gets heavier
You walk into a room
The voices all around

The smoke clears again

Now you see

The house of mirrors

You look deeper
You see your reflection
Distorted
You look closer
Then even closer
Wondering
Who is this person?
What have I become?

Finally taking your fist and smashing the mirrors
Turning again
All the images
So many things going through your head
Tilting it back
The tears running down your face
What have I become?

Slowly you turn
All the characters in their spots
As you pass them you touch each and every one
It’s a maze

The smoke getting heavier
The voices louder
Finally you turn
Turn and turn
Closing your eyes
Moving your hands up to cover your ears

Wishing it would all stop
Seeing people in their truest form, in all their lies
Everything tumbling down
Till there is no more

Lost, alone
You stand there as they pack up and move on

To the next show
To the next person who buys the ticket
And in the distant you hear
“Come one. Come all”

Don’t buy the ticket
Don’t see the show
Just try to see past the smoke
And when it clears

The images
The people
They will be real
And they will bring you back

To the basics
Honor
Trust
Responsibility
Integrity
Honesty
And most of all reality

Thank you again for your time

Peace and well wishes

Until next month,

prism