Three Poems
Khadijah Rice
Field of sunflowers
Going to school,
With activities and games with friends is something I should enjoy.
But I feel as if I am in a field of sunflowers.
Where roots of our bonds run deep,
Like perfect dirt to a flower.
They will notice when Iām gone,
In their hearts I know they value me deeply.
But even being important to the flowers around,
Their faces point towards the sun.
The second that they come all heads turn to them,
The sun shining bright, giving warmth to who's around.
As the sunflowers grow closer to the sun,
Wanting their presence and the warmth they bring.
The bigger the shadow covering me grows,
Even when the sun goes away.
The flowers stay facing where the sun was,
Praising the sun and calling for the warmth to come back.
In the playground, class and everywhere,
My name is common to say.
My warmth is often praised.
Like looking down at a sunflower field.
All heads turn and smile as I move,
No matter where I am, eyes are on me.
All bonds that are created never last long,
For when I leave my name stops being the subject.
As they still face my way,
Hoping to collect all that is needed.
I have no value in their hearts.
As I have only seen the surface,
Seeing all that they chose to show.
Even when the flowers I see may change,
One thing stays the same.
Where the best is shown by the rays.
All is shown below the dirt.
Where the important memories are,
All will talk about the deep bond they have.
Where tears and emotions grow into a prettier bloom.
Holding tight to the dirt.
For when they come apart from the dirt the sunflowers soon become dry,
Mourning their loss and forever being changed.
To be Green not Orange
Sometimes I want to be green.
A mix of cold and beautiful blues,
With a bright and shiny yellow.
But I am orange: I do have the shine of the yellow,
But I also have red
To show all the mistakes of my past actions.
When I look at green,
I see something that is naturally perfect.
But in the perfect nature, within the green there is envy and disgust.
Now I will be orange instead of taking away all my flaws.
For within them something great can be created.
Instead of hiding it away
And digging myself my own grave.
Blood red to snow white
From the bloodstained lands,
Cries can be heard.
Clouds that used to be pretty and colorful now stained with dark red,
Many smiles used to have their turn.
Now within the trenches
All that breath has sunk deep.
Deep within the ashes that fall from the sky,
Deep within the blood,
Running like a river never running out.
Deep within the silence,
That used to be full of gunshots and screams.
Now in the river that is filled with pain, blood and regret,
All that was clean became dirty with guilt.
Even with being caught in the river of shame,
A clean spot remains.
Holding the clean spot eyes are closed shut.
"On to the days,
When warmth was not an option,
But the coldness was never there.
Choices in many,
Smiles hundreds more.
When sadness was a foreign language,
And homework was the fifth thought
To the laughter of friends and a hug of a parent,
Oh, to be able to clean my stains to be the white of snow.
To be able to throw away all my choices and start over."
But even with the wishes to be able to turn anew.
It all has become in vain,
For as eyes become open and final breath is drawn.
Khadijah Rice is a sophomore at Columbia College pursing a major in Business Administration. With a strong interest in both art and literature, she enjoys exploring how different forms of art can evoke and express emotion. This is her first poetry publication.